Mass Hysteria
by CoffeeManiac
Summary: From a school shooting to a monster hunt, the boys find natural and supernatural evil in events that follow them from youth to their adult lives. The school shooting is entirely fictional and involves teenagers. This is not slash. This story is complete but will be posted in parts. Expect updates about every other day.
1. Chapter 1

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated. This story is complete. I will be posting a new section every other day.

Not Slash

1996

Tim Carroll slammed the trunk on his mother's car. He fisted her keys and glanced back at the darkened house. Inside the two story structure his mother peacefully slept. When Tim wished her a good night the evening before she had waved from where she sat on the couch but didn't look up from the crossword puzzle in her lap. Tim regretted not stopping to kiss her cheek or look at her face.

Before leaving this morning, he had peeked into her room but she was turned away from the door, soft snores coming from under a mound of messy hair. He didn't dare enter because she might wake and he didn't want that.

Feeling nervous about his preparations, Tim re-opened the trunk and looked inside. Two semi-automatic pistols lay on a green camping blanket. Both loaded and ready to fire. Both were Berettas because his father liked the brand and both were 9mm to cut down on the different types of ammunition he needed.

The 92A1 held 16 rounds plus one in the chamber. The M9 held 15 rounds. More ammunition was stored in his school backpack.

He dressed in baggy jeans and a brown sweatshirt. The back of the sweatshirt sported a cool print of Machine Head's "Burn My Eyes" album cover and the front had a wide pouch. One gun fit easily into the pouch and the other into the pocket of his jeans. He had tested both several times to be sure. He was also able to store more ammunition in the pouch so he could grab it easily in order to reload.

At just over five feet, he was short for his age and too skinny. But, no matter what he ate, he couldn't gain and he didn't expect to grow much taller. To hide his lack of bulk, he tended to dress in oversized clothes. No one would notice anything different about him on this morning.

Tim closed the trunk again. His mother would be waking up to her radio alarm in less than half an hour and he didn't want to be lingering out front. She knew he had an Algebra test to take and would be upset if she thought he would be late. He didn't want to fight with her, not when he didn't expect to ever see her again.

He took one last look at the house that he grew up in. He tried for a moment to think of some happy memory, just one that would make him miss that house. But, nothing came to him.

The rage that constantly simmered in him surged up, and Tim yanked open the driver's side door. He slid in, shoved the key into the ignition and turned on the radio. He switched the station and smiled when Pantera's music filled the car. He cranked the volume and turned on the heat before pulling away from the curb. He aimed for the high school thinking he was about to be as famous as Megadeath.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

"Hey, Sammy, wake up."

Sam Winchester rolled over throwing an arm across his eyes with a groan. He refused to look at the offensive big brother waking him. After studying Algebra until midnight followed by cleaning three handguns and a shotgun that took him until nearly three, he wasn't happy being nudged by an overly awake sibling.

"Come on, now, it's a big day. Let's see those bloodshot peepers."

Still groggy with sleep, Sam made the mistake of taking his arm down. His brother took advantage by flipping on the switch and Sam yelled out when light stabbed his eyes.

"Can't miss school today. You have mid-terms and I get to flip off all the crappy teachers."

Now, Sam did open his eyes. Well, one eye, anyway. He tried to focus on the bouncing teenager hovering just a couple feet away.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked then cleared his throat when he heard the husky tone.

"I'm dropping out today. Dad said I can work on my GED and that'll be good enough for a hunter."

"He did not."

"Did too. I'm dropping you off and leaving my books at the office. No more sitting in boring classes listening to boring teachers and not learning anything I need to know."

Sam groaned again as he rolled towards the wall. He pushed his shaggy brown hair out of the way and squinted at the weird blue color. It always made Sam think that the painter had just mixed leftovers together. The same hue swept through the whole apartment; kitchen and bathroom included.

He turned back over, fully awake now, and pulled the blanket with him as he pushed himself against the headboard. Thin walls and single pane glass meant he was always cold.

"Why would you quit now? Why would Dad let you?"

"Stupid grades, no interest in doing it anymore. Why waste more time? Dad agrees with me."

Sam sighed as he rubbed his face. He would never understand his brother. Sam loved school. He liked interacting with kids his age even if he never really fit in with them. He liked listening to the teachers while they brought subjects to life with their knowledge. The whole process of learning and discovering excited him and, normally, he couldn't wait to get to school.

"When did you talk to Dad anyway? He's been gone like two days."

"Yesterday morning. He came home early to shower. You were still sleeping."

"And you had time to change your whole life? Just like that?"

"Jeez, princess, dramatic much? It didn't take that long to lay out what he already knew."

Sam didn't like it. He knew Dean wanted to be a full-time hunter but he was only sixteen. ""Dean, a GED, it's not the same."

"Yeah, it is. It's not like I'm going to college or anything. Hell, I'm not even planning to hold down a real job. Not even a McJob. Look, Sam, I'm going to be seventeen in a couple of weeks. It's time."

Sam stared at his brother watching the excitement twitch in his eyes, the way he barely kept still, like he would break into dance at any second. Seeing his brother like that, he put away his own worries and forced a smile.

"That's pretty cool, I guess," Sam said.

"Damn right. Now get your skinny butt out of bed and get some breakfast."

With that, Dean left Sam's bedroom.

The one good thing about the apartment, Sam thought, was three bedrooms. Sam rarely had his own space with all the traveling they did so privacy was a real treat. He hoped they'd stay until the school year ended.

Fighting the melancholy at knowing he would be there alone from now on, Sam climbed out of bed. He hissed at the cold linoleum against his feet as he padded his way to the bathroom. Dean's news had shaken him awake so Sam decided to shower before breakfast.

Dean scrambled some eggs in a bowl, added milk, butter and salt and poured them into the medium fry pan that came with the furnished apartment. The gold appliances harkened back to the seventies as did the swirled linoleum floor.

While the eggs started to cook, he pushed around bacon in the other pan. It was bubbling with fat and smelled delicious. He stirred the eggs around before popping some bread into the toaster, singing "Home Tonight" to himself.

He would never admit it but he liked making breakfast for Sam. The kid didn't ask much from him anymore so cooking made him feel needed.

He heard the shower turn on so he grabbed a plate out of the dish drainer, dumped some eggs and bacon on it and stuck it on the back of the stove. He put another plate over the top to keep the food warm. Then he made a plate for himself, taking the fresh toast out and smearing it with butter. He set his breakfast on the table, poured more coffee in his cup to heat it back up and settled down.

Just as he dug his fork in, the apartment door opened to admit John Winchester. He glanced at Dean as he entered then locked the door behind him. Dean recognized the stiff shoulders, heavy bags under bloodshot eyes and hands squeezed into fists.

"Finish eating and start packing," Dad said. "We got to get to South Dakota ASAP."

"What's going on there? Something with Bobby?"

"Yeah, he says there're some weird deaths popping up around town. Looks like something is eating people. He's still trying to figure out what it is but he thinks he'll need some back up."

"Why are we packing?" Dean asked despite knowing that his father hated to be questioned.

Dad scowled at him. "Because we're not coming back. Where's Sam, in the shower?"

"Yeah. He's got that mid-term today."

"He'll have to catch up when we can. I'll let him know."

Dean knew that Sam would be angry and disappointed if they left town before he could take the test. It was the last one and it would mean transferrable grades at the next school. Besides Sam had studied hard for this one and math wasn't his strongest subject. The sudden change in plans would mean he wasted all that time.

"Hey, Dad, can you let him stay and take the test, at least? He was up all night studying."

Dad rolled his eyes. "He was supposed to be getting the weapons ready."

"He did that too. But, this last test, it's important to him. Can we just stay that long?"

Dad sighed. He glanced towards the bathroom door then back to Dean. He looked at his watch then pulled out his cellular telephone. He punched Bobby's phone number in because, as Dean knew, he hadn't figured out how to program it yet.

"Yeah, Bobby, it's John. We're not going to make it until tomorrow morning." There was a pause for Bobby to respond and then Dad said, "You said it was on a three night cycle. Whatever it is shouldn't do anything until tomorrow." Another pause. "All right, see you then."

Dad hung up and tucked the phone away. "All right, he can take the test. But, you still need to get packed up."

Dean sighed; relieved he had saved that much for his brother.

"We're leaving?" Sam came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. His hair was heavy with water and dripping down his face. With winter upon them he was pale; add to that a small growth spurt and he was skinny and all limbs too.

"Yeah," Dad answered. "Dean and I'll pack up so you can get ready for school but we're heading to Bobby's as soon as that test is over."

Dean watched the kid's face fall. His whole body deflated with the news.

"Why are we leaving?" Sam asked and Dean could practically see his father's patience evaporate.

"You two need to question my orders now? We're leaving because I said so. Now, go get dressed. We're on a schedule here."

Dean shoveled in the rest of his breakfast and scraped the remnants into the trash.

"You know, we're not Marines, we do think for ourselves," Sam mouthed off.

Dean spun around, surprised. He braced for the argument that was sure to follow.

"Don't start, Sam," Dad said. "I've been up all night and I'm in no mood."

Sam took a step forward. The towel around his waist slipped and he grabbed at it. Red colored his cheeks as adolescent modesty kicked in. He turned around, stalked into his bedroom and flipped the door closed. Dean sighed in relief.

Dad stared after Sam for a few moments then looked back at Dean.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, gruffly.

Dean leaned back against the sink. "Rough night?"

"The body is burned but there were cops all over the cemetery. Pretty sure they got the license plate. We only have a few hours before they trace it to me and then to here. Getting picked up for grave desecration will get me jail time and you boys in foster care."

That explained the sudden departure. Dad lived in fear of having state services take his sons. He had instilled the same worry into Dean.

"There's food in the pans," Dean said. "I already made a plate for Sam. Why don't you eat something and I'll get us ready to go?"

Dad smiled, weakly, but it was something. "Thanks, son."

Dean left his father fixing himself some breakfast and went to Sam's room. He didn't bother to knock, not wanting to draw Dad's attention or hear Sam tell him not to enter.

He found his brother pulling a white t-shirt over his head. He had already donned jeans and boots. His hair was drying and curling at the ends.

"I made breakfast," Dean said.

"I can smell it. Thanks." Sam's voice was monotone and clipped.

"We have to go. Dad got made at the cemetery last night so we don't have a choice."

"Cops?"

"Just a matter of time. You know if Dad gets caught burning bones then…"

"They'll split us up," Sam finished for him.

Dean tilted his head in agreement.

"He could just tell us that. He doesn't have to treat us like children."

"Sam, you're thirteen. You are a child."

"Yeah, well, not since you told me the monster in my closet was real."

Dean chuckled at that because Sam meant the comment to be funny. But, Dean hated the memory of telling his brother about monsters.

"He's tired," Dean said. "We're going from one job to the next without a break. Maybe you should cut him some slack. He's letting you take that test before we go. That's something, right?"

Sam nodded and pulled a red, hooded sweatshirt over the tee. Dean could still see the disappointment in his eyes but he saw resignation as well.

"Come and eat. You need brain food to get through that exam."

"Be there in a minute."

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Tim Carroll drove into the student parking lot. He looked around at the kids as they made their way towards the cafeteria testing room. Compared to a regular school day, there were only a few of them. The mid-terms were spread out over the week so not everyone was there at the same time.

Tim noticed a sweet looking vintage Impala parked at the curb as he circled to find a parking space. It made him wish that his mother didn't drive a Plymouth Neon.

He pulled into a space and walked around to the back. Plugging in the key, he opened the trunk then looked around. There was no one parked in the overflow lot near the woods and no people walking by. He grabbed the M9 and stuck it in his jeans pocket. He put the second Beretta inside the pouch. He strapped his backpack on, slammed the trunk and started walking towards the school building.

As he noted the cold morning and overcast sky, he was surprised at his own tranquility. He thought he might be afraid enough to abandon his plans but he actually felt calm.


	2. Chapter 2

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Thank you to all of you who have reviewed, posted story alerts and marked this as a favorite.

Part 2

John drove both his boys to the high school. He dropped Sam off at the cafeteria entrance where the mid-term was being held and wished him luck. He got a sullen wave from his youngest as the boy climbed out of the backseat. Then John drove around to the front of the school and parked so he could walk in with Dean. The school was laid out like an airport. One main hub in the middle with several arms reaching out from the middle. Red brick trimmed by gray cement, it looked like all the other schools that John had enrolled the boys in over the years.

He admitted to himself that he felt a bit melancholy over Dean's decision to drop out. He and Mary had big plans for their oldest when he was born. Good schools, good education and Dean could have been anything he wanted. Mary had already started researching kindergartens though Dean was only four when she died.

John had opened their first savings account on the day Dean was born. He put college money in it every month until Mary's death. If she had lived, Dean would not be dropping out. She never would have allowed it.

John hesitated for only a moment before opening his car door and walking with Dean across the parking lot. A cold January wind blew through his jacket and he glanced at his son to see if he was dressed for winter. Pushing six feet and filling out around his shoulders and chest, he looked like a man and John smiled to himself. Dean wore layers with a waist jacket over all of it that increased his bulk. He seemed unaffected by the weather and there was a bounce to his step that showed his excitement at dropping out.

John knew they could have left the text books and never looked back but since John was there, he thought he should make it official. Dean was practically vibrating with excitement. John knew he hated school and thought it was a waste of time. And he was right. The way things turned out, keeping his oldest in class was just torturing him for no reason. Dean wasn't destined for college or corporate America. The boy was a hunter from his toes up.

"After we get this done, we can go back and finish getting our stuff around. Soon as Sammy is done, we'll head out to Bobby's," John said, just to fill the silence.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered.

As they crossed the cement walkway, surrounded on either side by a three foot brick border, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. John could feel him getting ready to speak so he just waited.

"So, uh, that ghost last night, I can go with you next time, right?"

"Probably. We'll have to work around keeping an eye on Sam…"

"Sure," Dean agreed.

"But, you should be able to go on more hunts. You'll still have to listen to me though. No running off on your own."

Dean murmured his agreement as he pulled open the doors to the school. John put his hand on Dean's shoulder to stop him.

"You're sure this is what you want?" he asked.

"Yeah, definitely."

John searched his son's face, finding certainty. He exhaled, patted the boy's shoulder and led the way to the office.

The school couldn't prevent him from signing the papers and taking both of his boys out of school. The disapproval hung off the office staff with their glances and glares but John ignored them. Dean did too. Either one of them could have assured the "normals" that Sam would continue to go to school in some other town, or that Dean was going to get his GED but, neither one did. John was long past worrying about the opinions of others and he knew that Dean was learning that lesson.

Dean rubbed his hands together as he walked beside John towards the school exit. His excitement sparked all around him.

"You're a free man," John said.

"I can't wait to get to Bobby's," Dean said. "It's like I'm a real hunter now."

"You've been a real hunter for years, son."

Dean grinned at him. "Let's get Sammy and blow this town."

John looked at his watch. "There's still stuff to do at the apartment. Sam won't be done for another hour or so. "

They were about halfway to the Impala when John noticed that Dean wasn't beside him anymore. He stopped and turned around to find him looking back towards the school.

"Dean?" John asked, wondering about the hesitation.

The boy looked back at him with lips pressed together and eyes slanted away from him.

"Dean?" John repeated.

"I forgot to clean out my locker. It's nothing much but I left a jacket and some other crap."

John wanted to rail at the teenager about focus and responsibility and not having money to replace things that were carelessly forgotten. But, he didn't. Instead he asked where to find the locker.

"In the hall by the cafeteria. We can get in through there."

John rolled his eyes. He couldn't understand the forgetfulness of either of his sons. If Dean wanted to quit school, he should have had the sense to get his belongings. He sighed, pushing back his annoyance.

"Lead the way," he said.

John breathed in the fresh air, his feet crunching against the frozen ground. He noted a few students as they hurried past them. Future executives and cashiers and clerks, he found nothing redeeming in them. Watching Dean with his head up and shoulders back, and knowing the boy was aware of everything around him, John felt a swell of pride through his chest that erased his earlier annoyance.

When they reached the wide glass doors leading into the cafeteria, Dean stepped forward to pull them open. As he did, a young woman stumbled out. Blond hair fell along her shoulders. Dressed in a red, pleated skirt and white blouse, she looked towards Dean. Her body was hunched forward with her arm covering her middle then she fell towards him and he caught her.

"Help me." Saliva and blood dribbled from her mouth.

Dean looked back at John as he lowered her to the ground. With her collapse the awful wound in her belly became obvious. She was pumping blood, reddening the white blouse as she heaved in ragged breaths. Dean knelt on the cement walk, cradling her gently as she stopped breathing.

John pointlessly pushed hair away from her face revealing pale, green eyes. He looked at Dean thinking that his son had seen many terrible things. But, a bloody, dead teenager was a new level of horrific.

In the next breath, John pulled the handgun from behind his back. He grabbed Dean's shoulder to get his focus off the dead girl and said, "Sam."

Dean blew air out. He swallowed hard as he put his hands under her shoulders and pulled her into the grass. She left a trail of dragged over blood behind her. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a Smith and Wesson .45 that Bobby Singer gave him for Christmas. John couldn't miss his shaking as he produced the weapon.

John wrapped his hand around the back of Dean's neck and pulled him forward.

"Keep it together, son. We're going in for Sam. Put her out of your head."

Dean wiped his bloody hands against his jeans then nodded at John.

Just as John pulled open the school door, several shots rang out and he could hear screaming. He moved off to one side when ten or so students rushed towards them in a panic. Their footfalls echoed on the tiled floor as they bounded towards the exit. Two boys were supporting a third between them as they made the door. The one they were carrying was limp in their arms and bleeding heavily from his torso. The others pushed forward; seemingly oblivious to the injured boy and his companions. All John was interested in was that none of the running children were his son.

Dean held the door for the others, telling them to keep going all the way to the parking lot and to call 911. Once the stampede of terrified kids passed safely outside, he entered the building.

"Which way?" John whispered. Dean motioned towards the left hall. "Stay behind me, son. Stay close."

John led the way, sticking close to the hallway wall. Bright colored posters advertised a School Spirit dance and an upcoming football game. Other than those decorations, the walls were all gray with orange and black dots painted near the ceiling and floor.

Since the last volley of gun fire, there had been no other sounds other than some shuffling and whispering that was hard to pinpoint in the echoing corridor.

Dean grabbed John's sleeve and pointed. "First door on the left is the cafeteria."

John motioned for Dean to stay put. He ignored his son's questioning look, trusting that he would obey. Creeping forward slowly, fighting the urge to hurry, he could smell copper in the air from spilled blood.

A sign had been taped to the closed door designating the area as mid-term testing for two different Algebra levels with the start and end times. John found the lime green paper to be odd but that observation fled almost as soon as it occurred. He peered into the narrow window. Only four inches wide his view was hindered but he could see about half the room. Lying on the floor, blood pooling around still bodies, he counted three more victims. A score or more of children huddled under desks. Most were crying. Two adults were propped against the far wall holding hands. The woman was bleeding from a head wound. The man had a gunshot wound in his shoulder and his eyes were glassy as his head lolled from one side to the next.

John knew that Sam was not one of the dead or dying on the floor and he didn't see him among the children cowering beneath their desks.

John leaned back to look around the row of lockers beside him. He was glad to find a second door on the other end. The green paper let him know that it was another entrance into the cafeteria.

He waved Dean over. When Dean crouched beside him, John whispered. "Stay here. As soon as I get to the next door, count to ten. We'll go in at the same time."

"Sam?"

"I don't know. Can't see the shooter either. Might be more than one. Just be ready for anything."

"Dad, what if Sam…"

"No."

John refused to hear his son's fear. Giving it voice might make it true.

Staying close to the ground, he took one more look through the glass. The two adults had shifted. They were hanging on to each other with the woman clawing at the man's shoulders. The man was looking up but his head was turned towards the side of the room that John couldn't see. A heartbeat later, the shooter walked into view.

Young and skinny, he had his arms fully extended with both hands gripping a handgun. Wearing oversized jeans and a bulky sweatshirt that hung just above his knees, he looked like a ten year old in grown up clothes. John could read the "no, no, no" on the man's lips as the boy took a stance just inches from his face.

"Now, Dean," John said, turning the handle of the door.

In the same instant a blur of red motion took the shooter to the floor and it took a few seconds for John to make sense of what he was seeing. As he burst into the room with Dean at his heels, screams filled his ear drums. Sam, dressed in his red sweatshirt, was rolling around on the ground with the shooter.

John stopped breathing as Dean pushed past him and ran towards his brother.

The nudge brought oxygen back into his lungs and John searched for another gunman. No one else produced a weapon. The children beneath the desks reached out to each other with terrified screams and sobs. As one made it to his feet and stumbled towards the door, the others followed like a glaring of startled cats. A few of them gasped as they ran by their fallen classmates.

By the time the students had cleared enough for John to get through, Dean had the shooter face down on the floor, his arms twisted behind him and the shirt sleeves tied together. His head was turned towards John and John could see the boy was unconscious. Dean's knee was pressed into his back. Sam stood a foot back with Dean's gun in his hand, pointing it at their prisoner.

The male adult sat against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arm cradled in his lap. The woman was trying to push herself off the floor but her movements were stiff and clumsy.

"Boys," John said, going to his knees. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir," Dean answered while Sam just nodded.

John scrutinized Dean's handling of the shooter for a moment. Satisfied that the danger was controlled, he looked Sam over. His jeans were scuffed with blood smears but John didn't see any injuries.

"Sammy, are you hurt?" John asked, to be sure.

"No, sir," the boy answered. His eyes never wavered from the shooter.

John left his sons to check on the injured. He started with the three people lying on the floor; two boys and a girl, all dead from multiple wounds. Shaking his head in sadness at the waste of such young lives, he moved on to the adults. As he knelt in front of the woman he heard the echo of movement through the hall and knew that emergency personnel had finally arrived.

"Boys, we have to go," John said, standing up.

Dean picked up the shooter's gun and slid it in front of the man who was still just sitting and shaking on the floor. He lifted his knee off the gunman then reached out for Sam's hand. The younger boy saw it then looked at his brother as if he didn't understand. Dean grabbed his wrist and pulled him away from the carnage. He took the .45 away from Sam.

The woman had managed to get to her feet but she was leaning weakly against the wall. The man lifted his head from his knees with a groan.

"Sam," the man called out as John and the boys reached the emergency exit. "Thank you."

John didn't know if his youngest heard him but it wasn't important. He hustled the boys out the door then around the side of the building. He ordered Dean to put his gun away then wrapped his arms around both of them. As they came out into the open courtyard, a group of armored and heavily armed police met them.

The officer in the lead stopped them. "Who are you?"

"Mr. Bennett, John Bennett," John answered, "Physics. These are students."

"Get down to the parking lot. Did you see the shooter?"

"He's in the cafeteria. Knocked out, I think."

"All right. Keep your heads down and run as fast as you can."

"Yes, sir," John agreed.

He nudged the boys and the three of them ran across the open yard towards the parking lot. Skirting the crowds gathering there, John herded them to the Impala. Dean opened the back door, pushing Sam inside then followed behind him. Neither boy spoke as they settled with Sam sitting near the driver's side window and Dean sitting in the middle beside him.

John knew getting off the grounds would be a challenge. The police would likely have everything cordoned off. He climbed into the front then opened the glove compartment. He pulled a cigar box out and flipped open the top. Rifling through the miscellaneous fake ID's, he plucked out the one identifying him as Special Agent John Wilson.

He took a moment to glance at his sons before putting the car into reverse and pulling out of the space. Both were pale and wide-eyed. Dean had one arm wrapped around Sam's shoulders and Sam was leaning into him.

"Hang on, boys. We'll be out of here in a minute."

"We're okay, Dad," Dean said with his usual confidence and for the first time John wondered how much of it was real and how much was an act. He knew his sons and they were anything but okay.

As John pulled up to the blockade, a uniformed officer approached the car carrying a clipboard.

"This is a crime scene, sir, we need everyone to remain on property for the time being," the officer stated.

"Special Agent Wilson," John replied, flashing his identification. "I need to get these boys to the hospital. They're brothers and the younger one is in shock."

"Names," the officer said.

"Dean and Sam Winchester."

The officer flipped through some pages on his clipboard then marked the sheet. He had probably been given a list of the students. He looked through the window at the boys and asked them their birth dates. Both boys responded then he asked them where they were going.

"Hospital," Dean answered. "Sam isn't handling this too well. Neither of us are."

The officer's professional demeanor melted somewhat as he nodded. He wrote on the clipboard again then waved to the other officer guarding the stanchions. The blockade was shifted enough to fit the car through.

John thanked him as he drove off the property. All along the streets leading towards the school, cars were starting to line up and the sidewalks were beginning to fill. Word of the shooting must have leaked out because all John could see in any direction was scared parents.

He turned towards the hospital to maintain the ruse he had begun with the officer but he doubted anyone there was going to notice. In the space of a moment, the officials trying to maintain order were being overrun. John drove away from the chaos for several blocks before he started making his way in the other direction where he could pick up the freeway and head to Bobby Singer's house.


	3. Chapter 3

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Posting the third part a little bit early. I don't think I'll have time to put it up tomorrow. If I stick to schedule (I am planning to), the fourth section should go up on Monday. Once again, thanks to everyone who's reading and following this.

Part 3

Shortly after John entered the freeway heading north, Dean started yelling for him to pull over. John's heart thudded into overdrive thinking that Sam must be hurt. He skidded onto the shoulder of the road looking at his side view for traffic before getting out. The backdoor popped open spilling both of the boys on to the grassy edge near a wired guardrail. By the time John could join them, he could hear Sam vomiting. Dean looked back at John grimly as he held Sam up. John rushed around to wrap his arms around his youngest while he wretched.

"Get a bottle of water out of the cooler," John ordered and Dean hurried off.

As Sam finished coughing and spitting, John petted his hair, soothing him as much as possible. Dean nudged Sam's arm and gave him the water. The boy drank, swirled and spit several times before he finally drank down the rest of the bottle. Dean hovered worriedly looking from John to his brother and back again.

"He'll be okay," John assured his oldest.

"I'm okay, Dean," Sam said, though his face was blotched with red spots and his eyes were watering.

John patted his shoulder roughly. "You ready to get back in the car or are you going to be sick again?"

"I think I'm ready." Sam said.

He sounded strong so John motioned for the boys to get back in the car. Dean moved all the way over to the driver's side this time while Sam hugged the passenger side. Sam leaned his head against the window probably finding comfort in the cold glass.

They drove a few miles in silence. John's skin itched with frustration and anger. The repeated bursts of adrenaline made him uneasy. He wanted to scream out his rage or punch something or just run for awhile to get rid of the excess emotion.

"What happened back there, Sam? Who was that kid?" John asked.

"Not now," Dean growled from the back seat.

When Dean decided to protect Sam it was usually best to let him, so John looked in the rearview to see how his youngest was holding up. John found he wasn't the only one fighting the effects of the morning. Sam was switching between running his fingers over the door handle and rubbing his palms back and forth across his thighs. John turned his attention to Dean for a moment and found him bouncing his leg up and down while he twisted his hands.

To put distance between them and the shooting, John drove fifty miles before putting on his blinker and taking the next exit.

He followed signs to the nearest motel and told the boys to wait. He went to the front desk where a young woman gave him a pretty smile as she asked if he wanted a room. She was probably college aged with skin the color of caramel and black hair cut above her shoulders.

As he signed them in, he asked her where he could find the closest park that had a running path. Her smile brightened at the question and she told him where she liked to go.

As she wrote down the directions, John noticed the television behind her. A local news station was covering the school shooting. There was no volume and John looked away from the images on the screen.

The clerk handed him a piece of paper and he thanked her before hurrying back to the boys.

"We're staying here?" Dean asked when John opened the door to get in.

"Just for the night. We'll get an early start in the morning."

"Isn't Bobby waiting for us?"

"He'll wait another day."

John drove around the building and parked in front of their room, glad that it was on the bottom floor.

The three of them traipsed into the small room. With two beds and a bathroom, it fit their needs for the moment.

"There's a park near here. Let's go get some running in and then we'll have an early dinner," John said.

Both boys slumped at the news but didn't argue. He didn't tell them that he really just wanted to tire them out, get some air in their lungs and let them clear out some of the horror they were just involved in. They didn't need to know that.

Sam went into the bathroom to change.

"I don't think he's up to running miles," Dean said to John.

"Just a short workout. He'll be fine."

"But, now? After this morning? He was just sick an hour ago. Don't you think he should rest?"

"No, Dean. Trust me. A run will do us all good."

Sam emerged ten minutes later in navy sweat pants and a gray hooded sweatshirt.

"I think my other clothes are ruined," Sam said and John cursed himself. Looking at Dean he realized he hadn't let either of them change out of their bloody clothes.

"Don't worry about it," John said. "Just throw them in the trash."

"I'll take care of it," Dean said as he took his running clothes into the bathroom.

"Dean is pretty tense," Sam said, after the door closed. "He said you two were with Claire when she died."

"Was that the girl who came outside?"

"She was the first one he shot. She was a little late for the test and I think, I think she startled him. He had just pulled the gun when she came through the door. The look on her face, Dad, she was so…surprised."

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Sam."

Sam shrugged then grabbed his duffle bag and started digging around in it. After a moment he produced running shoes.

Dean came out of the bathroom wearing black sweat pants and a long sleeved black t-shirt. He hesitated in the doorway, probably feeling the tension in the room.

"We should get going," Sam said.

"Let me change," John said.

John closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned on the sink. His heart thudded like a locomotive and he blinked at the tears in his eyes. He hated that Sam had seen what he'd seen. He hated that either of his boys had been there. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face.

"Get it together," he told his reflection.

John changed his clothes. When he came out of the bathroom both boys were pacing around the room. He doubted that either one realized they were wearing a hole in the floor as they shifted by each other.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Dean wiped the sweat out of his eyes again as he slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. Sam stretched his muscles one more time before climbing into the back. Dad settled into the driver's side. A three mile run under an overcast sky and their breath visible with every exhale had pushed Dean to his limit. He was tired with legs aching and a slight headache brewing that he figured was part dehydration and part hunger.

"Let's hit that diner next to the motel and call it a night," Dad said.

"I'm starving," Dean commented, looking forward to a cheeseburger.

"How 'bout you, Sammy? You hungry?" Dad asked.

"Sure, I guess," Sam answered.

The run had let Dean forget about the shooting for a while. Maybe not really forget but at least, put it in the background. But, Sam's voice, sounding small and distant, sounding so young, brought it back in a rush.

"Just get some soup or something," Dean suggested. "Don't want you chundering all over the car."

"I'm not sick," Sam said, irritably. "I just have a headache. All those kids screaming before. It gave me a headache."

"A bunch of scared teenagers can be pretty loud," Dad commented and Dean thought it was a strange thing to say.

"Yeah, well, it's understandable," Sam said. "He shot Claire and then he started shooting at the others when they ran for the door. Killed Phil and that other boy right away but Marlene was still moving. He just walked over and shot her in the back a couple more times until she stopped. I've never seen so much blood. It smelled awful."

Sam stopped talking. Dean turned to look at him and found the kid staring out the side window. His hands were clenched in his lap.

"What happened after that?" Dean asked.

Sam just shook his head then wiped hard at his eyes. Dean turned back around not wanting to embarrass his brother.

They pulled into the parking lot of the small diner. Before anyone could open their doors, Dad said he was going in to get food to go. He didn't ask what anyone wanted as he left them alone.

"I screwed up," Sam said, softly. "I should have jumped him sooner."

"You didn't screw up," Dean said.

"I was so close to the door. If the other kids hadn't rushed it, I could've gotten to him before he killed anyone else. I couldn't get around them."

Dean felt his breath stop; he thought his heart must have seized up. "Sam," he said without turning around. "Could you have gotten out the door after he shot Claire?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I was right there."

"Why didn't you?"

"And leave all those people behind? I had to try to save them, Dean."

The matter of fact tone didn't help Dean's panic. His brother could easily have been one of those kids lying in their own blood on the cafeteria floor.

"Jeez, Sam."

"I know. I let them get between me and the shooter…Tim…that's the kid's name…I let them get between me and Tim."

"That's not what I meant. You should've gotten out of there."

Dean could practically hear Sam processing that. He would lay odds that Sam never even thought of escaping.

"How could I? You wouldn't have. Dad wouldn't have."

"You're fourteen years old. It's not your job to save the world."

"Of course it is."

Dean exhaled, rubbing his eyes as he did. He had no answer for Sam's argument. They had been raised to save people. It was the family business. He shivered as the sweat on his body cooled in the freezing January night. He hoped Dad would hurry so they could get back to the room, eat, shower and go to sleep. Exhaustion overwhelmed him suddenly.

"I know him," Sam said. "The kid, I mean…Tim."

"You did? Do you know what happened? Why he did this?"

"He didn't really say anything except to be quiet, stay under the desks, stuff like that. He called Mrs. Snyder a bitch just before he hit her. But, she got in the way when he was aiming at Mr. Bridges so…"

"Why did he shoot Mr. Bridges?"

Dean had recognized both teachers in the room. Snyder taught English. Bridges taught Algebra.

"He'd been trying to convince Tim to give up the gun. I don't know why he bothered. You could tell the kid was past any kind of reasoning. But, Bridges tried anyway and got shot for his trouble. I started to make my move when he was distracted, but then Snyder got in my way. I don't know, maybe I'm just making excuses."

"You saved their lives, Sammy."

Sam fell quiet after that. Dean turned sideways in the front seat, curling his knees up to his chest so he could keep an eye on his brother. The kid had lost interest in talking and was huddled into himself, staring out the window. Dean wished their father had left the car running with the heat on.

A few minutes later, Dad returned with two bags of Styrofoam containers. He set them on the back seat near Sam then climbed behind the wheel. He cranked the engine, turned on the heat and headed to the motel.


	4. Chapter 4

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Thanks again for the kind reviews and to all those who are still reading.

Part 4

Sam stared at the ceiling of their room for a long time after Dean fell asleep. He'd never admit it but he was glad to be sharing a bed. He felt safer having his brother close which was stupid because he wasn't in any danger. The morning at school had passed and so had the threat. In all likelihood, Tim Carroll was sitting in a jail cell or in a hospital psych ward, long past the point of being able to hurt anyone.

Sam knew that it was normal to have some residual fear after a close call. He had been hunting with his family for years, searching for and finding monsters to kill. He had spent more than one night lying awake after some violent or dicey altercation where one or all of them had been in danger. What he was feeling was normal; it's just, it seemed different.

He'd never seen people that he knew being gunned down before. He couldn't call any of them friends but he had been in classes with them, had seen them in the hall or in home room or in the cafeteria. He had seen them alive, with futures, and then he'd seen them terrified and dying.

He shuddered as Dean stirred then turned from his stomach to his side. Sam had to grip the blankets to keep his brother from sweeping them away.

When Sam had walked into the cafeteria for the test, he'd been apprehensive about whether he'd get a perfect score. He knew he'd pass but he wanted a hundred percent. He opened the door to find both teachers and a handful of students milling around. A nervous energy filled the air as everyone prepared to take the mid-term. Gradually more students filed in until about five minutes before testing. Mrs. Snyder told them to sit down so she could distribute the test papers. Tim Carroll walked in. Sam hadn't taken a seat yet when he noticed his purple pencil laying on the floor near the door. Sam had found it a couple of weeks earlier and liked the color so he'd been using it since.

He went to pick it up when he heard a gasp so he turned around to find Tim holding a gun. He was pointing it at the teachers. Sam froze with surprise, the pencil forgotten. He blocked out the scared noises filling up around him. He started assessing just as he'd been trained but until he knew what Tim wanted, he couldn't take action. The squeak of the door opening made his insides go cold with fear as he turned to see Claire Webber. She didn't seem to be aware of the danger when the room exploded with the noise of a gunshot. Sam couldn't stop seeing her stunned expression or the blossoming stain on her shirt as she stumbled backward out the door.

Understanding hit him with cold clarity and Sam started forward, intent on tackling Tim but the noise pushed everyone towards the door. They shoved past Sam like a herd of scared sheep, all of them screaming as Tim opened fire on them. One of the boys fell into Sam and landed near his feet. Sam jumped away from him still trying to get a clear path to Tim but instead, getting pushed further away. He lost his balance and fell on his knees when someone plowed into him. By the time Sam had regained his footing Tim was standing over Marlene and in front of the only exit while she begged him not to kill her. He fired twice more before he swung the weapon up at the others. Like it was choreographed they stepped back, putting their hands up as if that would stop a bullet.

"Get under the desks and shut up!" Tim ordered then noticed Sam standing to one side of him.

Sam held his breath, his heart pounding while he waited to be killed.

"Under the desk," Tim ordered again.

Sam moved quickly, keeping his eyes on the boy and not the gun, looking for any change that might indicate he was getting ready to fire. He crouched at the edge of the line of desks not wanting to be underneath one because he needed some freedom to act. Tim didn't notice as his attention was drawn back to the teachers.

Bridges started talking then, trying to convince Tim to surrender, making promises, trying to appeal to his humanity. Sam wanted to tell the teacher to be quiet but he didn't. Instead he watched and waited, hoping Tim would turn his back completely so he wouldn't notice Sam attacking from his peripheral.

Tim finally fired, knocking Mr. Bridges backward into the glass. The teacher yelled out in surprise as he sank to the floor. All the students exploded in sound while Sam fought the panic building around him. Snyder stepped in front of Mr. Bridges, holding her hands up and telling Tim not to fire again and Tim swung the gun around clipping her in the head. She fell on to Mr. Bridges.

Sam knew if he succumbed to the fear of the other students he wouldn't be able to think so he focused on Tim instead. The boy backed away from the teachers as if wounding them was somehow worse than murdering his classmates.

Tim started yelling orders, telling everyone to be shut up or he'd kill them all and finally, it seemed to sink in because the noise died down to whimpers and soft crying. Sam was relieved and hoped they stayed quiet.

Bridges pushed himself to his knees slowly then put himself in front of Snyder. Tim wasn't interested in them anymore. He was pacing and waving the gun at the teenagers trapped under furniture and Sam knew they were helpless. By having them scrunch themselves under the desks, he had immobilized them. Whenever Tim decided to massacre his victims, he'd be able to without much trouble. He still hadn't noticed that Sam was not under a desk but crouching at the end instead.

While Bridges and Snyder helped each other, Tim looked out the big, glass window towards the outdoor tables where students would have lunch on warmer days. Sam prepared to make his move, knowing that time was running out.

Snyder said something that Sam didn't hear but in the next moment, Tim stalked over to her and Sam pounded after him. If he didn't stop him now, there wouldn't be another chance. Sam leaped the last foot or so and they both went down hard. Tim cursed as they fought, elbowing Sam, trying to shake him off or get the gun around but Sam managed to hold him. Then suddenly, Dean was there.

The battle ended quickly when Dean rapped Tim in the skull with his .45. Sam rolled away from them while Dean wrenched Tim's arms behind him, pulling the sleeves of his shirt until he could knot the ends together. Sam took Dean's gun so he had two free hands to bind Tim.

Somewhere in the back of Sam's mind, he had known that his family would come. He wasn't really surprised when they burst through the door. Even in the midst of the shooting when he was terrified and horrified, Sam never lost his calm. Part of that was training, part of that was confidence in himself, his brother and his father.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

John darted up in bed, heart seizing in his chest. He searched around him frantically, wiping sleep out of his eyes while he gained his bearings. As the motel room came into focus he gasped in relief. Forcing his vision to focus he stared at his boys in the next bed, counting them, watching their bodies move and breathe. He swallowed against a dry throat as he assured himself that there were two sons sleeping peacefully nearby, both safe, both uninjured. It could so easily have gone differently and John thanked God and Mary that they were there.

He pushed the blankets off, shifting his body to the side of the bed and rubbed his face. He jumped, startled when his cellular phone rang. He flipped it open quickly, hoping it didn't wake the boys, and padded into the bathroom.

"Yeah," he said.

"Good morning to you too, John," Bobby Singer said. "Am I crazy or did I just see Sam on the news saying he's the hero in that school shooting?"

"He's what?"

"It's on the national news, John. Name, age, grade, said something about being helped by an unidentified student and an adult male. I'm guessing that's Dean and you."

"Damn it."

"Is everybody all right?"

"We're fine. No one's hurt."

"What the hell happened?"

John gave Bobby a basic rundown then promised to give him more details when they arrived.

"Christ," Bobby said. "Thank God, they're all right."

"Yeah," John said as he leaned against the bathroom sink.

"How are you doing?" Bobby asked.

"I'm all right. There're a lot of parents who can't say that today so I'm grateful. But, those kids were just…they were so young, I just…it's a waste, ya know?"

"I hear ya. It's a terrible thing."

John glanced out the door at his sons and sighed.

"I'm going to rustle up the boys, get breakfast and we'll be on our way. Expect to hit you by night fall."

"Just keep Sam under wraps unless you want to be on the evening news."

"Will do. Thanks for the head's up."

John clicked the phone off. He used the bathroom and started the shower. While the water warmed, he yelled for Dean and Sam to wake up. Dean grumbled as he rolled on to his back then pushed at his brother. Satisfied they would keep moving John went back in the bathroom to shower.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

The drive to Bobby's took about twelve hours. Dean fidgeted from his position in the front seat, killing time by making conversation with his father and by reading old copies of Guns and Ammunition, MAD magazine and a beat up X-Men comic book. Normally, he'd put some time into teasing his brother. Now that Sam was older, he was more fun to annoy because the battle between them was more evenly matched.

For this drive, Dean left him alone though. The kid hadn't slept much the night before and had barely touched his breakfast. Clearly he was still reeling from the events of the day before. He just sat in the backseat reading some geeky book by Charles Dickens because it was listed in the required reading for high school. The only time he spoke was to answer Dad about stopping for a bathroom or needing a drink or a snack.

When they finally arrived at Singer Salvage, Dean practically leaped out of the car, glad for the drive to be over. Bobby greeted them from the porch, wearing his signature ball cap, flannel and jeans.

Dean shivered as he stepped into the frigid South Dakota winter. He waved to Bobby who yelled out that he had dinner on the stove. Dean went to the trunk where Dad handed him his duffle as well as a bag of weapons. Dad gave Sam a duffle also then gathered a few more bags. They all headed up the wooden steps and Bobby led them into the warm house. Dean grinned at the sight of a fire burning in the fireplace and the smell of food cooking.

It was always nice to be in Bobby's house.

Dad told them to take their gear upstairs. Bobby patted Sam's back as he walked by carrying the duffle bag. Dean followed his younger brother to the second floor then down the hall to the room they shared. He dumped his bag in the corner and found Sam leaving his at the bottom of the bed.

The small room held two single beds with a tall wooden dresser at the end of the one that Sam used. A quilt stitched together by patches of autumn colored fabrics sat folded on the top of the dresser. Dean would bet it was homemade. That same blanket was always there and it never made sense to Dean to have a blanket sitting on top of a dresser.

Dean turned his attention to Sam and couldn't help noticing the kid looked like hell with dark circles under his eyes, messy hair and slumped shoulders. He didn't comment on it knowing they'd need more time to talk than the two minutes they had until Dad and Bobby called them to dinner.

"Bobby cooked," Dean said, his stomach gurgling noisily while he grinned.

"Smells like beef stew," Sam said, sounding happy about it.

Before Dean could say anything else, Dad's voice boomed out for them to come downstairs.

Leading the way, Dean bounded down the steps and into the kitchen where the men were waiting. Bobby handed him a bowl.

"Eat up. Made enough for a small army."

"Or for Dean," Dad joked.

Sam smiled as Bobby slipped a bowl into his hands.

"You feeling all right, son?" Bobby asked with a critical eye.

Dean noticed Dad sitting up straighter to appraise Sam as well.

"Yes, sir," he answered, ducking his head, obviously embarrassed by the attention.

"Glad to hear it. Get some food and we can talk about what's eating folks around here."

Sam filled his bowl from the stock pot on the stove and took a seat next to Dean. Bobby's table was dark wood and rectangular with thick legs. The chairs were blond wood with slatted backs and Dean doubted they came with the table.

Still worried about his brother's lack of appetite, Dean smiled to himself at seeing the stew steaming near the top of the bowl. Dad handed Dean a gallon of milk so he filled his own glass then Sam's. It occurred to him that in a few more weeks, he'd be seventeen. Now that he was out of school and almost legal, he wondered if Dad would let him drink beer with the grown-ups after his birthday.

Once Dad and Bobby sat down the four of them spent several minutes just eating. The stew was thick with gravy and vegetables. The meat was seasoned beef and probably chopped up from a roast. Dean savored every bite. Dad rarely cooked so diners and fast food made up most of their diet. A home cooked meal was a rare and welcome treat.

"Don't be shy, boys, no point in good food going to waste," Bobby said as he passed around a loaf of homemade white bread.

Dean took a couple of slices before passing the basket to Sam. His brother didn't take any before passing it on to Dad.

"All right," Dad said after a few more minutes of noisy eating. "What's going on here?"

Bobby swallowed his food, wiped his mouth off and sat back. He took a long drink from a Budweiser bottle before he started his story. Dean kept eating but he watched and listened, feeling the familiar excitement in his belly at the start of a new hunt.

"Two weeks ago, I got a call from the local coroner telling me that he had a couple of dead bodies. He said one had died a couple of months ago and the other had died a few months further back. Apparently both had been dug up and partly eaten. Not finished off though. I figured maybe some ghouls had nested but usually they like their meat fresher than that. So, I staked out the cemetery for three nights straight but nothing happened. At least not there. When I got home after the last night, I had the deputy calling me. She's new, just moved to town, I think. Anyway, she said the sheriff told her to call me. They'd found a jogger near the main park with his face missing. His liver and heart too. He had a couple of puncture wounds on his femoral artery, was drained of blood and was missing both arms and a leg. Interestingly enough that wasn't the odd part."

"It wasn't?" Dad asked.

"The body was found lying on its back with tree branches laid out around the body like they were replacing the missing limbs. Three branches, one for each arm and one for the missing leg."

"What is it?" Dean asked.

Everyone had stopped eating and was staring at Bobby. The older man scowled at them.

"I don't know for certain. But, I went back to the cemetery to check on the two guys that were dug up. Both of their caskets were empty but the holes in the ground were filled with replacements. Two dead dogs, one in each grave. "

"How'd the cops miss that?"

"They didn't. The coroner just hadn't mentioned it. "

"You mentioned there were other deaths," Dad prodded.

"Yeah. One infant was taken out of its crib. A tomato plant from the family's garden was left behind. No sign of the baby but her bed clothes and blanket were found covered in blood at the base of a tree just off the property. The other victim was a teenage boy. They found his head and a bit of his spine but not much else. Can't say for sure he's one of ours because there was no replacement left."

"Sounds like an Aswang," Sam said.

"Yeah, it does," Bobby agreed, with a pleased smile sent in Sam's direction. "But, they're fair exclusive to the Philippines. I never heard of one around here."

"The replacement parts and draining the bodies, that sure sounds like one. It probably ate the heart and liver of the jogger. Probably ate the rest of him too plus the baby and the teenager. They tend to favor children, right? "

"Someone want to fill me in?" Dad asked, sounding annoyed. Dean figured he didn't like being left out.

"Sam's right. It does sound like one," Bobby said. "The Aswang have a lot of myths around them. They have some vampire qualities like drinking blood and they're shapeshifters. They usually change at night into some kind of animal. Dogs, boars, cats, other stuff. Mostly dogs."

"And they can change into people too," Sam said.

"Apparently they can live in a town and look normal but they tend to be shy or withdrawn. Then at night, they change into an animal, or into their true form. And they're almost always female."

"And you think that's what's here?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Bobby answered. "It's on the short list of possibilities. If it is one then drawing her out will be the trick."

"We'll have to figure out the hunting ground and then offer her something she wants," Dean said.

"You said it was on a three day cycle, right? You know anything else about its habits?" Dad asked.

"Maybe. If we're all done here, I can show you what I've put together," Bobby said.

"Boys, get this cleaned up, including the dishes," Dad said. "You can give us a hand in the den when you're done."

"Yes, sir," Dean said and was echoed by Sam a moment later.


	5. Chapter 5

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Part 5

Bobby led the way into his office where a fire burned and his desk was covered with open books. John had never seen the room neat or organized in any discernable way. Bobby shifted things around until he found the map he'd made marking the cemetery and the murder spots. John used his finger to make diagrams between all the bodies looking for a pattern that would lead to the hunting ground. Creatures tended to be territorial and if the Aswang was having success in feeding then she'd likely remain in that area.

"Sam looks tired," Bobby commented.

"He didn't sleep much last night," John said, still looking at the map.

"Not surprising. Is he talking about it?"

"Not much. Least not to me." Thinking about Sam was a distraction and it was interfering with John's concentration. He took a breath to shut out thoughts of his son then re-traced the connection on the map. "You know I think I might have an idea here. See this?"

Bobby leaned over to look at the map and John drew a line using a pencil this time.

"Well, it stands to reason she'd be hiding in the middle somewhere," Bobby said.

"No, I don't think she is," John disagreed. "The inside of the circle is downtown but look at the perimeter."

Bobby looked closer. A line of woods shot up a short distance from each body dump and behind the line a creek ran nearly the whole way.

"I see what you mean. That's a helluva lot of territory to cover."

"We'll have to split into teams. We can each take one of the boys with us for back up."

"Uh, John, I don't know if that's such a good idea. These Aswang are drawn to children. That teenager that got eaten was about Sam's age. I think the kid might turn out to be a target if we drop him into the woods like that."

John stepped back from the map. He glanced towards the kitchen where he could see Sam drying dishes. He saw Dean's hand reach out with a bowl. Sam set whatever he was drying down and took the bowl to begin drying it. He couldn't hear Dean's words but he could hear his voice in a steady patter. If Sam was speaking, the sound was too low.

"Then we'll think of something else," John said, the familiar stab of fear jabbing into him. "They're both children."

"Dean'll probably be all right."

"Someone has to watch Sam. That monster took an infant out of its crib."

Bobby shrugged but dropped it.

John and Bobby continued discussing the possibilities. John suggested they try to figure out if the Aswang was living as a human. He thought the victims might have a person in common that had targeted them.

As the boys wandered into the den from the kitchen, John took a close look at his youngest. With pale skin highlighted by dark rimmed eyes, the boy barely picked up his feet as he followed his brother. Before John could send him to bed, Dean took over.

"Sammy, you ought to hit the sack. You look like shit."

The battle over profanity from Dean ended a couple of years earlier when John grew tired of correcting him. The only rule was that he couldn't swear in public where he might be heard.

"I'm fine," Sam grumbled back at him.

"Yeah, for a corpse. Go to bed, kiddo."

Sam glared at his brother then glanced at John for support.

"Dean is right, Sammy. We'll see you in the morning."

With shoulders slumped, Sam gave a weak wave to Bobby then thanked his adopted uncle for dinner. He spun around then tried to stalk angrily away but he was too tired to really pull it off.

Once they stopped hearing his footsteps on the stairs, Dean asked for a strategy update on killing the monster.

"Let's hold up on that for a second," Bobby said. "If you don't mind my asking, what happened at that school?"

John motioned for Dean to explain. He liked giving the boys practice at articulating events so they'd be able to effectively organize their thoughts and give descriptions.

"Well, Dad and I dropped Sam at this exam room and then we went to the main office so I could withdraw from classes. We were going to leave from there to finish packing up the car then grab Sam and head here. But, uh, I forgot some stuff in my locker so we went over to the cafeteria building instead. That's where Sam was too. When we got to the door, one of the students, a, uh, a girl, really young girl she stumbled out, obviously shot."

Dean stopped talking for a second. He rubbed his face.

"Sorry," he said.

"We don't have to do this now," Bobby offered.

"No, it's okay," Dean said. "She died pretty fast and that's when we started hearing gun fire. We had to work around some of the survivors while they were running out the door but we managed to get to the cafeteria. We didn't know, ya know, whether Sam was dead or alive. But, you know Sam, he just dropped out of nowhere to jump the kid with the gun. Dad and I went through the door. Sammy was wrestling with the shooter so I jumped in there. It didn't take long to take him down after that."

"Dear lord," Bobby said.

John folded his arms into his body. Hearing Dean describe it brought the terror back like a building falling on him. He could have lost either boy and the thought of that nearly strangled him.

"There were kids lying all over the place. Just dead kids. Unbelievable," Dean said.

"Did the shooter say anything?" Bobby asked.

"No. Well, I knocked him out so…but, Sammy said the kid didn't say why or anything. I didn't recognize him but Sam said he knew him or, really, just seen him around the school, I guess."

"Have there been any updates on the news?" John asked.

"The shooter's name is Tim Carroll," Bobby said. "He's sixteen, uh, broken home, living with his mother. News said he was a loner. He shot six of his classmates and one teacher. Four of the kids died. The teacher and the other two are supposed to survive."

"Any reason?" Dean asked.

"Nobody's naming one," Bobby said. "Lots of talk and guesswork like you'd figure with the news types but that's about it for now."

The three of them batted around the story for a while longer. John let Dean handle most of the conversation because it was good for him. Uncomfortable with the idea of expressing his fear, John didn't want to talk about it anyway. After a few minutes, he excused himself to check on Sam.

John climbed the wide staircase slowly. He ran his hand along the wood banister, feeling the knots along the way. Exhaustion made him feel shaky and when his mind flashed back to seeing Sam as he attacked Tim Carroll, the image stopped him at the top of the stairs. He took a breath that didn't clear away the pounding of his heart.

He walked down the hall quickly, suddenly anxious to see his son. The bedroom door was partially closed and the room beyond was dark with the South Dakota night. He pushed through silently and looked towards Sam's bed. The boy lay there, breathing softly, curled into himself. His hair fell over his eyes and his hands were wrapped tight around the edge of the blanket.

Lying behind him, near the wall, was a beat up stuffed monkey. The body of the toy was orange and the limbs were long and green. Velcro was sewed into each hand and foot so it they could be attached to each other. As John understood it, people would wrap the monkey around themselves and carry it like it was a real pet. Dean had found the novelty in a department store several years earlier. Dean purchased it for Sam saying it was a replacement for the dog that they would never have.

For a long time Sam slept with it and carried it around until finally, John told him that he was too old to haul a stuffed animal every place he went. John still remembered the boy's face growing red as he retreated back to his room. The monkey disappeared that day. Other than occasionally spotting it in Sam's duffle, John had never seen it again.

Until now.

John regretted embarrassing Sam almost as soon as it happened. But, he told himself, what's done is done. He figured Sam would get over it. He found it disturbing that the boy had sought comfort from the toy years after it had been abandoned.

John approached the bed slowly. With gentle fingers, he brushed Sam's hair away from his face. He tugged lightly on the blanket to get it over his shoulders. He bent down and kissed Sam's head then took another moment to stare at the boy before finally leaving the room.

Sam hadn't stirred during John's ministrations which spoke to the boy's exhaustion.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

"So, you quit school for good this time, huh?" Bobby asked. Dean didn't hear anything negative in his tone but he wasn't smiling either.

"I was way past done," Dean said.

Bobby clapped his shoulder. "Yeah, I suppose you were. Let's hash out this hunting ground."

Dean smiled, relieved that Bobby wasn't disappointed in him.

A few minutes later, Dean looked away from the map when he heard his father's footsteps. He wanted to ask about Sam but knew that Dad would be more interested in the hunt. If something was wrong with his brother, Dad would tell him.

"I think I have an idea," Dean said.

"You either do or you don't," Dad answered.

Dean cleared his throat to sound more certain. "The deepest part of this creek is a pool near the middle of the area where you think the Aswang is hiding. Right behind that pool is some trees but just beyond that is a cave. Bobby says the Aswang like to take their victims to dark, damp places so they can eat in peace."

"Makes sense."

"He also said that holy water is a good deterrent. I'm thinking if we load up with silver rounds, then take some holy water too, we can probably ambush it in the cave."

"There's one big problem with that idea," John answered without hesitation. "It would have to take another victim if that's where it's going to feed. I think it's best if we try to avoid that, don't you?"

Dean leaned back disappointed. Dad was right. He hadn't considered the obvious drawback.

"How's Sam?" Bobby asked.

"Sleeping," Dad said. "He looks peaceful enough."

"You know, Dean's idea isn't half bad," Bobby said. "Maybe one or two of us can stake out the cave while the others scour the woods. If she feels threatened there's a good chance she'll retreat to her feeding ground. We might even be able to corral her into it."

Dad nodded in agreement. "So tomorrow, we'll check out the cave. See if there're any remains. While we do that, Dean and Sam can do some more research. I'm wondering how she ended up here and where she came from. Maybe there are some similar deaths that'll lead us to figuring out who she is."

Dean frowned at that idea. He wanted to go to the cave.

"You think she's hiding out as a person," Bobby said.

"I think it's worth checking into," Dad said.

"I was hoping to go with you to check out the cave," Dean said. "Can't Sam and Bobby do the research?"

"First of all, Bobby does what he wants. Second, you need to stay with your brother. This thing prefers children and I don't want him left alone."

Bobby flipped through some pages in an open book before he said, "I want to check the area around the cave tonight, John. We can start looking for tracks and signs, maybe get to the cave itself. If this thing sticks with its three day cycle then it's going to hunt tonight and I'd like to be close by."

Dad glanced back up the stairs. Dean guessed that his father didn't like the idea of leaving Sam alone so soon after the shooting. But, knowing Dad, he wouldn't risk another person being killed because of his personal life.

"All right," Dad agreed. "I'll get geared up. You think you can find tracks at night."

"Please, I've been hunting in those woods for years. If there's something unnatural leaving signs, I can find it."

"Sam's asleep. He'll be okay alone," Dean argued one more time, hoping to change Dad's mind.

"Seriously, Dean, you want to leave your brother unprotected after yesterday? I taught you better than that."

Dean's mind flashed to seeing Sam fighting the kid at the school, gun barrel trapped between their bodies and shame coursed through him.

"No, of course not. Sorry, sir."

"All right then. It's getting late. You should get some sleep."

Dean ducked his head for just a moment before he looked up at Bobby with a quick grin. "I got the house covered, got no worries here."

"I know you do," Bobby agreed.

Dean waved at the two men and headed upstairs, cursing himself for pushing Dad. He knew, had always known, that Sam was his responsibility. After nearly losing Sam in the school shooting, he never should have suggested his brother would be safe alone.

When he reached their shared room, Dean took a moment to stand beside Sam's bed. Even in sleep, Sam's face looked uneasy, like he hadn't quite relaxed. Dean spotted the stuffed monkey that his brother normally kept hidden stuck between Sam's body and the wall. Dean reached over, tugging the toy out and setting it at the top of the bed. He pulled the blankets closer around Sam's neck.

"Sorry, Sammy. I forgot for a second."

Not feeling tired, Dean dug around in his duffle for his X-Men comic. There was enough light from the hall to read even if he had to squint through some of it. He could hear the movement of Dad and Bobby as they prepared to find the cave. Sometimes voices drifted up but he couldn't make out any of the words. About a half hour went by before he heard the front door open and close and quiet settled over the old house.

Dean thought about the leftover stew in the refrigerator and smiled. He glanced at his brother who continued sleeping with his mouth slightly open. He wasn't fidgeting or making any distressed sounds so Dean figured the kid was sleeping well enough even if he still looked sort of tense.

With another happy thought of warm stew, Dean set his comic down and headed for the kitchen. Dark and chilly with creaks and groans, Dean always liked Bobby's house. The fire in the study had been doused but the lingering smell of smoky wood remained. Warmth still seeped through the air too despite the below freezing temperatures just outside the door. Dean bet that Bobby let the fire burn full time when he was home alone and had only put the flame out because there were kids in the house. Knowing that about their surrogate uncle gave Dean a sense of safety.

Glad that he kept his woolen socks on, Dean crept into the kitchen. There was no reason to be quiet but it seemed appropriate in the emptiness of the big house. He pulled the handle on the old refrigerator and retrieved the leftovers. The bowl still felt warm in his hands. He set it on the counter then took a metal sauce pan out of one of the lower cupboards. He looked out the window, seeing lots of old wrecked vehicles in varying stages of repair. Rusted, twisted metal, broken glass and gaping holes where doors should have been, the cars and trucks looked like the remnants of a nuclear attack.

Dean gave himself a generous helping of the stew then put the pan on the stove. He turned on the gas burner then grabbed a wooden spoon out of the nearest drawer. He continued staring into the salvage yard thinking that Bobby should get a dog and wondering what it would be like to be the last person alive after an apocalypse. A dark shadow crossed between two vehicles and Dean dropped the spoon into the pan. He leaned forward to get a better look. His heart was already starting to beat in a punishing rhythm.

A couple of moments passed, just long enough to convince himself that he was imagining it when the shadow took shape, appearing from behind an old truck. It was standing on two legs and gray colored but what Dean really noticed was the exceedingly long fingers with knobbed joints that ended in curled nails. Forcing his eyes away from the hands that could likely disembowel with one swipe, Dean took in the rest of the creature. She was naked and he could see her flat belly that led to swelled breasts and a long, narrow neck. Her face was dominated by huge, round eyes that left almost no room for the pointed nose. But, the nose was clearly there protruding from the center of her face like a stiff hose. He could barely see the thin mouth slashing near the bottom of her oval head but he could see the line extended from ear to ear. If she actually had ears which Dean could not see.

Suddenly noticing the warmth of the fire beneath his stew, Dean stepped back. He flipped off the burner then abandoned the stove and its window to go look out the front door.

He jumped back when he found her just feet away and climbing the porch steps. Her breath filled the air while her feet scraped against the wood.

Hoping the lock on the door would hold, Dean turned and ran to the study where he knew that Bobby kept a shotgun loaded with iron rounds. He didn't know if it would be effective against the Aswang. As a combination of vampire and shapeshifter, he'd be more comfortable with silver bullets or something big enough to blow her head off.

Dean looked towards the stairs thinking the most important thing is to keep the monster away from Sam. He lifted the shotgun, deliberately controlling his breathing, knowing that if he didn't he might not be steady enough to get a clean shot off. He crept forward a couple of steps before an explosion of wood and glass landed in the hall in front of him. He jumped back, startled by the noise and debris.

Heart pounding, he darted forward, determined to catch her in the kitchen before she could get any closer to the staircase. Just as he reached the hall she appeared just a couple of feet away. The dust and debris had hidden her. Dean pulled the trigger catching her flat in the chest and knocking her back a step. Before he could fire again, she swept out one of her clawed hands like a snake striking and sent Dean barreling into the nearest wall. His back hit the unforgiving wood, knocking his breath out, and bringing tears to his eyes with sudden pain. He slid to the floor on jellied legs.

He spotted the shotgun thinking he could blast her in the head. But dazed and breathless, he only managed to start his lunge before she swiped him again. This time, his skull cracked against the wall with a dizzying thump and he slumped over.


	6. Chapter 6

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

The response to this story has been wonderful. Thank you so much to all those who have posted Alerts or made it a Favorite. And of course to those who send feedback, you rock! To guest reviewer Doyleshuny, thank you for sending the detailed reviews for this story and for my first post, _Stubborn Survival_. It's very much appreciated.

Part 6

She watched the boy from the mouth of the cave. He smelled delicious as he hunched his body over his knees clasping his hands together trying to keep some warmth. She was amused as he tried not to look at the tiny skull laying a few feet away.

She would save this one for last. So young and tender, he'd be a wonderful dessert, not as tasty as the squalling infant but still, satisfying.

The other child, the brother of the wonderful morsel just waiting placidly for her attention, remained unconscious. She kept his shuddering body close to her. He had fought like few children before and she wondered if he would wake up ready for another battle. She couldn't risk it so she hovered over him waiting for the time to consume his precious blood and then his skin and then the rest of him.

While she healed quickly from his reckless blasting with the useless gun, she didn't appreciate the aggression. She looked forward to how much he would not appreciate having the life sucked out of him.

The younger child shifted. He pushed his body off the rough ground slowly, his eyes now on her. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself while he struggled with the cold. Puffs of white left his mouth with every exhale but he remained quiet. She made a noise at him, knowing that he would only hear sounds that he couldn't understand, but she also knew her warning was clear.

He tucked his head in obvious fear before taking a breath and a step closer. She guessed he wanted to check on his brother but she wouldn't allow it. In a louder voice, she ordered him to stay back. While she couldn't speak in human words, she could point and chatter in a tone that left no questions.

He stopped but didn't sit back down.

She had smelled his presence as soon as the door to the hunter's house disintegrated. It took a moment for her to realize that there were two meals waiting inside but when she did, excitement filled her. After dispatching the older one, she mounted the steps. The boy was waiting at the top shivering. She searched him with her eyes, smelling his juvenile scent and found nothing but fear emanating back at her. He wasn't armed like the other one. She scurried up the steps using her speed to overwhelm him. He only managed to take a step backward before she wrapped her arms around him. He screamed, kicking and pounding at her uselessly while she carried him down the steps.

When they reached the older one, she realized she couldn't transport them both with the younger child fighting her. She slipped her hands down to his hips and yanked him off her shoulder. He flailed at the sudden movement and she used his momentum to knock his head against the nearby wall. He made a small noise at the impact and stilled. Hefting him back over her shoulder, she reached down and slid her arm beneath the older one and lifted him.

The trek through the woods back to the cave was quick and efficient. The sweet scent of the younger one combined with his moans as he fought for consciousness made her salivate. She dropped him into the middle of the cave then brought the other one to lie at her feet.

Now, as she gazed at the younger one, still standing defiantly, she heard the others approaching. Their quiet conversation would not carry into the cave so he remained oblivious. She scraped a hand over the older one, not injuring but hurting him, just a little, to see if he was awake yet. He didn't flinch or make a noise and she didn't detect any change in his breathing or the slow beating of his heart.

The others appeared one by one through the trees. For the moment they were black dogs, two adult sized and a puppy breaking through the trees with sharp toothed smiles and wagging tails. As they grew closer they morphed into their true form. Her mate, somewhat taller and broader than herself and their children, two females, not fully grown, evolved seamlessly from canine to humanoid.

The youngest one had just begun hunting and had nearly revealed them all when she dug up the two cadavers. Her older child had tried to hide the theft but then had grown hungry and took a live human. Both she and her mate had realized that it was time to teach them about taking humans as food, and to treat them to the most succulent of all, the infant offspring. To her pride, both girls were learning quickly.

A small gasp from inside the cave provided the opportunity to display her skills to them. She told her family about her successful acquisition from the home of the human hunter. Her mate expressed his concern that she had gone off on her own, reminding her that hunters were dangerous and unpredictable. But, she argued, these offspring were likely important to him so it was a great victory to seize them.

The girls rushed into the cave, chattering excitedly between them, anxious to consume the younger child. He drew back from them, bending his knees and holding up his hands. She couldn't decide if he was trying to ward them off or stand to fight but the older girl swiped out quickly, knocking him to his knees. She keened in happiness when he stayed down. The younger girl crouched to sniff him, her trunk lifting and elongating as she caught the sweet aroma of his blood. The boy scooted away from her, making an unhappy noise.

She called the girls back. She didn't want to eat the boy yet. Thinking of that brought her attention back to the older one. As the girls returned to her side, she listened to his heart speed up with his breathing. She was satisfied to find that he was awake and frightened.

With one hand, she lifted him from the ground by the scruff of his neck. He cried out and the boy in the cave joined him in noise. The younger one rushed forward at hearing the other's distress but her daughter merely swiped him down again. The action upset the older one who grew loud as he flailed.

Her mate took the older one from her and tossed him easily. He landed just outside the cave, staying still for only a moment before he drew himself up showing his prideful defiance as if that would save him from her hungry family. She and the girls joined her mate in surrounding him. He turned in a circle trying to watch all of them at once. As soon as his back turned, she shoved him forward. He stumbled into the older girl who pushed him playfully into her sister. The younger girl possessed less control and swiped across his back leaving an angry mark as he fell then she licked the blood off her fingers and hummed happily.

While normally they didn't play with their food, she enjoyed seeing her daughters eat while teaching this violent child that humans are not the highest order of species.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

When Dean had finally woken up, he'd been dazed and unable to defend himself. The Aswang family dragged him, stumbling and uncoordinated, from the cave. Mercilessly they shoved him around between them while he fought to keep on his feet. Their clawed hands tore streaks through his t-shirt and even in the dark Sam could see blood soaking through the material.

Sam waited until the monsters' attention was diverted. He stifled his outrage at seeing Dean hurt and sought out a weapon. Finding the only thing available in the desolate cave, he rushed the Aswang that had kidnapped them. The femur felt heavy and awkward in his hands but there was no time to be choosy.

He gripped the bone and swung with all his strength but was still surprised when the blow knocked the largest female into the circle. Her long, flat feet curled into razor toes and scraped up the ground as she turned towards Sam hissing.

As Sam raised the club for another strike, Dean barreled into her and she lost her balance. She fell flat, dust fluttering around her. The largest Aswang roared and struck out sending Dean airborne into the trees. Sam screamed out as he swung but the monstrous family was no longer unprepared. The leg passed through the air harmlessly and one of the other females grabbed his arm. He cried out as his skin split from the grip of her sharp fingers. Sam dropped the leg reflexively as she shook him.

The warmth of blood flowed freely down his arm making him dizzy.

He knew it was over. They would kill him and eat him; at least, he hoped they'd kill him first. Dean was already dead so…

Gunfire erupted like out of a movie and the monster dropped Sam as she fell. Hissing combined with their weird ticking language filled the air as the Aswang family turned to meet the new threat. Smoke billowed from their punctured bodies as bullets pierced them. The hissing turned to screaming. The smallest female tried to shift into something else but it came out as a cross between a dog and a boar and maybe a cat or something.

Sam's vision turned hazy as he tipped over on to his side. Voices and gunfire, dust and blood surrounded him, but it seemed separate, like it was far away.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

"I have Sam," Bobby called out.

"Is he alive?" John asked while he gathered Dean into his arms. He winced at the angry gash along his son's forehead.

"Yeah."

John and Bobby had found Dean first, lying unconscious at the base of a tree. John had little time to assess his injuries because just beyond the tree line there were four Aswang gathered in the clearing. Bobby spotted Sam when one of the creatures shifted revealing him clutched in her grip. John brought his gun to bear while Bobby did the same and they both fired. John aimed for the monster holding Sam, hitting her square in the head. She dropped Sam with a screech that filled the dark woods and gave John the clear space he needed to rip into the rest of them. He and Bobby fired silver rounds until all four Aswang were lying on the ground, their blood coating the hard dirt.

John knelt beside Dean as Bobby rushed into the open. John heard one more shot. When he looked up he saw Bobby standing over one of the monsters that had tried to change form during the massacre. A hole that took up nearly its entire skull rested on a body twisted into some sort of mangled creature.

When Bobby confirmed that Sam was still alive, John almost collapsed with relief but holding Dean in his arms strengthened him. He steadied under the weight of his oldest and carried him towards the cave. Bobby remained kneeling and when John was close enough, he could see that the other man had done a quick bandage job on an injury to Sam's arm.

"He was bleeding pretty bad," Bobby said. "We taking them to my place or the hospital?"

"Your place. With Sam all over the news, I don't want to risk getting the police involved."

"How's Dean?"

"Gash and bump on his head, probably has a concussion. Some shallow cuts on the rest of him. I don't know how bad," John admitted.

"Well, we're burning time standing here. Let's get them safe and taken care of. I'll come back later to get rid of the bodies."

"Lore says they're part vampire," John said, knowing they couldn't leave just yet.

"All right, I got it," Bobby said. "Start heading back with Dean. I'll bring Sam along in a minute."

"It'll go faster with both of us."

John wasn't willing to leave one of his sons behind. Besides, beheading four monsters was a two man job. He set Dean down near the mouth of the cave. Bobby lifted Sam and moved him to lie next to his brother. Both men shed their coats and covered the boys up, trying to protect them from the cold and from shock.

They made quick work of taking off the heads of the Aswang. It was miserable and disgusting but when it was done, they could be certain the monsters wouldn't harm anyone else.

John startled and Bobby actually jumped when Dean sat up like a bullet yelling out Sam's name. John dropped his axe and knelt down beside him. He put his arm around Dean's back for physical support, assuring him that Sam was safe, that both of them were safe. Sam started murmuring a moment later, calling softly for Dean.

Bobby crouched next to Sam, helping him to sit up slowly and warning him to be careful of his arm.

"Dean's all right, son. We're going to take both of you home," Bobby promised.

Held close in Bobby's arms, Sam continued mumbling during the walk through the woods. Mindlessly moaning between words, he called out for Dean and his father. John could hear Bobby speaking softly to him as he tried to keep Sam calm.

John followed behind supporting Dean. He had regained consciousness but he was dizzy and stumbling as they walked. John took his weight and encouraged him to keep going.

Upon reaching the house, Bobby cursed at the sight of the front door. It had been blown off its hinges leaving wood shards, glass and splinters from the doorway to the hall. Icy air had driven out the warmth so Bobby said they should take the boys upstairs to treat them.

"I'll get a fire going and see about cleaning up this mess. Can you get the boys fixed up?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, no problem," John said. He had far too much experience with patching up his sons.

Carrying the boys, they crunched and crackled their way to the stairway and then up. They took them all the way to the back bedroom. Bobby laid Sam on his bed while John worked at convincing Dean to sit on his. Dean was fighting it, saying he wasn't hurt but the glaze in his eyes painted him a liar.

"Do as I say," John commanded and Dean glared but sat down. John gathered the blanket edges from the bed and wrapped it around Dean's shoulders.

"Sam is hurt," His oldest stated with accusation in his tone.

"I know that and I'm going to take care of him."

"I'll get the first aid kit," Bobby said.

John grabbed a folded quilt from the top of the dresser wondering vaguely why Bobby left a blanket there. He laid it over Sam, tucking it around him. The boy was shivering and mumbling.

"Its okay, Sammy, its okay," John said. "I gotcha."

Sam tried to lift his injured arm and winced at the effort. "Daddy," he whispered.

John closed his eyes for just a moment. The childish term sliced into him, reminding him that Sam was still a boy. "Shsh, try not to move, son."

Bobby returned with the first aid kit. He laid it out on the bed next to John then knelt in front of Dean.

"Thought you were taking care of the door," John said.

"It can wait," Bobby grumbled back.

John knew Dean was getting the best care possible under the circumstances so he turned his attention to Sam. He had a lump on the back of his head and some scrapes and bruises. The most serious injury was the slice through Sam's arm. Deep and ragged, it had bled through the bandage that Bobby applied at the cave. John took the alcohol and suture kit out of the bag. He looked at Sam's face finding the boy looking back at him with worried eyes.

"John," Bobby said. "Stitch him up before he bleeds to death."

Bobby's command shook him out of his thoughts. 'Yeah, yeah," he said.

"I'll help," Dean said and scooted off the other bed.

"Boy, I need to fix you up," Bobby argued.

"In a minute," Dean said.

John didn't stop him as Dean situated himself above Sam's head then pulled his brother into his lap. Dean looked gray as dust as he held him. John glanced at Bobby.

"Concussion, most like," Bobby said, referring to Dean. "The rest is just scratches."

"Okay, let's get this done," John said.

Sam stayed stiff and motionless through the burning of the alcohol as it disinfected and then through the needle sliding in and out of his skin. He was biting his lip and occasionally a small sound would escape until finally it was over. Another douse of alcohol and a clean bandage ended the treatment and Sam collapsed weakly against Dean.

Bobby handed John a single Hydrocodone and some water. John gave it to Sam who swallowed the pill and drank greedily before settling.

Dean disentangled himself as gently as possible but stumbled when his feet hit the floor. John caught him with one hand against his torso while Bobby steadied him and helped him into the other bed. Dean lay on his stomach and closed his eyes as soon as he was down.

"Okay, your turn," John said.

"I'll be downstairs," Bobby said and left them alone.

John helped Dean take off his shirt then set about disinfecting and covering the scratches. Nothing was deep enough for stitches but the process kept Dean squeezing the blanket beneath him. John worked quickly and soon his oldest had clean, white patches covering his skin and one on the back of his head.

He took a bottle out of the first aid kit and shook out two maroon pills.

"Sit up for a second and take these," he said.

Dean followed orders but he looked ready to pass out.

"How come Sam gets the good drugs and I get Tylenol?" Dean asked as he lay back down. His eyes were closed and he was smiling.

John shook his head, amazed that his oldest could find something to joke about. "His arm would keep him awake," he answered.

As Dean drifted off to sleep, John stood up and put the first aid kit back together. He went to the bedroom door then stopped to take another look at both boys before leaving them alone to rest.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Dean woke slowly when he felt a hand shaking his arm. His head hurt like there was something trying to break out from the inside and he didn't want to leave the cocoon of sleep. The shaking was insistent though so he forced himself to open his eyes. He was glad when there was no light to stab his pupils.

"Sammy," he said as his brother came into focus.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice hoarse with tears.

Dean jolted awake, all remnants of sleep vanished. "What is it? Does your arm hurt?"

Sam shook his head. 'I, uh, I…" His voice trailed off and he just sat there on the edge of the bed.

Dean couldn't hide the groan as he pushed himself up. His head didn't appreciate the change in altitude. While his vision cleared and his stomach settled, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Never mind. I'm sorry." Sam started to withdraw but Dean caught his arm. Unfortunately it was his injured limb and Sam winced as he pulled back. Dean let go and cursed.

With puffy eyes and holding his arm feebly, Sam looked like he could pass out at any second.

"You woke me up from a dream about Jennifer Lopez. Least you can do is tell me why," Dean said.

Sam settled back down but still didn't speak. Dean kept quiet but with his pounding head and the late, or early, hour, he was having trouble staying awake.

"Dream." Sam blurted the word out then looked towards the bedroom door. "Nightmare."

"What about?"

"Tim. The Aswang. That, that teacher…Snyder. All of it. It was all mixed up."

"It was just a dream, Sammy. Can't hurt you."

"You were dead. And Dad. Tim…he killed you and then the monsters they just…they started eating and I couldn't. I was too far away and I couldn't get closer. I kept running but Snyder just kept getting in the way and I just…"

"Sam. Sam," Dean interrupted. "Just a dream."

"God, Dean, I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Be scared like this." The words were whisper soft making them worse and Dean felt tears creeping into his throat.

"Give it some time. It'll get better."

"Dean…"

"I won't let anything happen to you."

"Stuff happens to me all the time. To all of us."

Sam sounded miserable. He sounded hopeless and Dean didn't know what to say.

"Maybe they could make a TV show out of us," he said.

"What?" Sam asked, sounding surprised.

"You know, America's Most Pummeled."

"Dean…"

"The Young and the Cursed."

"Dean…"

"Due'md South. Hell, Doomed in all directions."

Sam started laughing. "I don't know why I talk to you."

Dean just grinned at him.

Sam was still chuckling when he stood up and climbed back into his own bed. Dean heard him mutter, "young and cursed" before he giggled again and rolled over.


	7. Chapter 7

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

A/N: Time for the boys to grow up.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Posting two chapters today to help ease the transition for the boys. It's not easy becoming grown ups.

Part 7

2006

The ten year anniversary of the school shooting loomed like a shadow around Sam as he drove towards Buena Bruja. He remembered it in the same way he remembered a movie or a regular dream, not like his visions at all. He remembered the sounds and the smells more vividly than the events but it was all in flashes or moments of time. He couldn't rebuild the incident in sequential order. When he tried, his mind seemed to override his intentions and started jumbling up the events on its own.

Sam spotted the newspaper article announcing the memorial and told Dean that he wanted to attend. Dean couldn't understand why he'd want to return to a place with such horrific memories and Sam couldn't explain it. At least not out loud.

He wanted to know how the survivors turned out. He wanted to know how the families of the dead moved on and if the town managed to overcome it.

But, it was more than that and it was something he couldn't say to his brother.

Growing up the way they had, living the life they lived, there wasn't much that Sam actually feared. He respected the fact that most of the things they hunted could kill him but he still hunted. He could take action without freezing up or worrying about the outcome.

The school was something else. For some reason his palms grew sweaty and his heat rate picked up whenever he thought about going inside the school. That's why he had to go back. He didn't want to live in fear of a building when monsters rarely did more than startle him into action.

"The flier says Mrs. Snyder will be making some kind of a presentation at the candle light vigil," Sam said, conversationally. "The current student council did some fund raisers to get a plaque."

"I don't get that kind of thing," Dean said. "Like putting out teddy bears when a kid dies. It's not like it's doing the kid any good."

"People need to do things to make themselves feel better."

"Exactly my point. What about the guy teacher that got shot?"

"Mr. Bridges. He died about a year after the shooting. They said he never really healed from the gunshot wound."

"Huh, I didn't think it was that serious."

"Yeah, well, we didn't have a lot of time to check it out," Sam said. "Anyway," he continued. "There's the presentation and then the next morning there's a procession to the cemetery. Two of the kids are buried there and there's some kind of monument or something to honor all the victims. They're going to do a ceremony."

"Let me guess, there's a lunch after that."

Sam grinned. "How'd ya know?"

They both found it interesting that no matter what kind of event people were having, whether celebrating or grieving, food always became a part of it. For Dean, it was generally the best part.

"The kid that did it. Tim, whatever, he still in prison?" Dean asked.

"Tim Carroll. Uh, no, actually, he spent about three years in the Nash Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He was transferred to prison after that. They let him out when he turned 21."

"Out? Like out?"

"Yeah. Crazy, right? There were petitions from almost every organization in Buena Bruja but he was released anyway," Sam said. "Since he was only sixteen at the time of the shooting, some juvenile rights organization got involved."

"I still don't know why we're going to this," Dean said, sounding disgusted.

"I told you why. Because I want to see the school again."

"That's weird, Sam. It's even kind of morbid."

"Yeah, it's so much more morbid than say, grave digging or burning corpses."

"Hey, that has a purpose. This is just you going back to a place where you almost got killed. There isn't even a job in town."

Sam looked across the car seat towards his brother. "It's something I need to do, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Okay, whatever. What else you got?"

"Do you remember the principal? A guy named Felix Evans?"

Dean thought a moment. "Oh, yeah, I think he was the one that signed off when I dropped out. Gave Dad the stink eye."

Sam chuckled before continuing. "He dropped dead of a heart attack last year. The obit says it was sudden. Said he was a marathon runner. Wife found him in his study."

"Huh, that's strange. Any other weird deaths?"

"Actually, yes," Sam said, not really expecting that they had a case in Buena Bruja but liking that Dean was interested.

"One of the kids, Beth Aldridge, died last month. She was in the room during the shooting. The paper said she was going to college for an education degree and she was student teaching in Alice Snyder's class."

"What happened to her?" Dean asked.

"She died in her sleep. Just never woke up."

Dean glanced at Sam with a scowl. "What was she, 22 or so?"

"Just turned 21."

"And she died in her sleep? You sure there's not a case here? That's three people connected to the shooting that dropped dead."

Sam shook his head. "Honestly, I didn't think about it. It's been ten years. People do die."

Dean shook his head. "It's weird. You should keep looking."

The two of them continued in silence for the next hour or so before Dean leaned against the passenger window to sleep.

Outside, bare trees lined the narrow road like skeletal soldiers. Patches of snow brightened up grassless dirt. Dark clouds hovered menacingly overhead, gathering together to steal the blue from the sky.

Sam kept his foot on the accelerator and his mind on driving. He turned the radio on, keeping the volume down out of deference to his sleeping brother. Up ahead he caught sight of a figure on the side of the road and he squinted at it, trying to bring it into focus. With dusk falling it was hard to make out details. It looked like a person but there was something off so he eased off on the pedal to slow down slightly. The figure moved out of the small stand of trees and on to the shoulder of the road. Sam continued watching, making sure that it wasn't a child or a drunk intending to dart in front of him.

Just as he passed it, the figure opened its narrow slit of a mouth like it was going to scream. Huge, black eyes filled a round face and one clawed hand swiped out from its naked body. Sam slammed on the brakes, skidding a few hundred feet before sliding on to the opposite side of the road. The car squealed as it spun to the left before finally settling in a cloud of gravel.

"What the hell?" Dean said, looking around as Sam opened the driver's side door and jumped out.

Dean followed. He checked in all directions just as Sam was doing though neither one left the side of the Impala.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"There was something out here. A monster, a, I don't know, something. It must have run away."

Dean spun around, checking the area behind them and in front of them. Sam searched both sides of the road before he started walking back to where he'd seen it. Dean joined him.

"What was it?"

"Aswang," Sam said. "It looked like an Aswang, I think. I only saw it for a second."

"The thing we hunted at Bobby's? Sam, we killed all of them. And it was like years ago. In South Dakota."

"I know what I saw, Dean. "

"They're pretty rare. Any chance you fell asleep while you were driving?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Give me a little credit, all right? It was there."

Both brothers stopped walking. Sam searched the ground for footprints or any other sign of the creature but there was nothing but hard packed ground. Dean crossed the road. When Sam glanced over, he found him crouching under the tree.

"Anything?" Sam yelled.

"Yeah, I'm freezing," Dean called back. "If it was here, it's gone now."

"It was here," Sam said, emphatically.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender.


	8. Chapter 8

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Part 8

Dean wordlessly took over driving after he checked the car out. Though he found no damage he wasn't willing to risk a repeat of spinning off the road. He didn't think his baby could take another round and he wasn't sure his nerves could take it either.

He didn't know how clearly Sam remembered their first run-in with the Aswang. With a four year difference between them, often Dean's memory was better. He wasn't sure that Sam even realized that the attack by the Aswang happened within two days of the school shooting. It was possible the two incidents were mixing up in Sam's head because they occurred so close together.

He didn't suggest that though. There would be time after Sam calmed down to hash out the possibility of an overactive imagination.

By the time he found a suitable motel, cheap but not renting hourly, night had fully fallen. With the loss of light came bitter cold and Dean shivered visibly as he pulled his duffle out of the trunk. Sam had booked the room so he had grabbed his bag first and was unlocking the door. Dean joined him just as he pushed it open.

Three rooms revealed themselves as they walked in. A small kitchenette bordered by the living area and a bathroom. Two queen sized beds with some weird cartoon witch in two different poses hung above the headboards. Dean vaguely recognized the character from a Bugs Bunny episode. In one picture she was stirring a cauldron. In the other picture, she looked alarmed with hair pins flying around her head. Dean just shook his head as he set his bag down on the bed nearest the kitchen and the front door.

"What was Dad thinking, keeping us a place called "good witch"?" Dean asked.

"At least he wasn't actually hunting a witch here," Sam said.

Dean shrugged. He dug a shaving kit out of his bag and headed towards the bathroom.

Sam guessed he was taking a shower. A moment later he heard the water start and found he was right. Sam took out his laptop and set it on the small table in the kitchenette. He turned it on, glad to see the signal for a strong internet connection. He wanted to check into possible sightings of the Aswang on the road. They were usually found in the Philippines but since they had encountered one in South Dakota, they obviously weren't exclusive to that area.

He also needed to double-check the itinerary for the next day just to make sure there hadn't been any last minute changes. Sam never intended to go to the cemetery with the rest of the town, or have an organized lunch with them. He wanted to wait until the events were in swing and then go to the school. He knew they hadn't torn down the building where the shooting occurred but they had remodeled. Initially the cafeteria had stood empty and then a couple of years later it became some kind of art room for "creative expression". When interest in creativity apparently died, the old cafeteria became a computer lab.

Sam didn't know if he was grateful that it would look different or irritated that he wouldn't be able to see it exactly as he remembered.

Sam stood up to get a beer out of the refrigerator. He considered getting one for Dean too but figured his brother would want it as cold as possible. Returning to the table, Sam caught movement from the corner of his eye. He stood up and looked out the hotel window. The curtain was mostly closed but a few inch gap allowed some of the night to peer back. He stared for a moment waiting to see if a tree limb shook in view or debris blew past but nothing appeared.

Blowing air from his lungs he mentally chastised himself and headed back to the table. Just as he sat down, he heard a tap-tap on the window. Frowning now, he picked up the handgun he left beside the laptop. He glanced towards the bathroom door and could hear the water still running. Carefully he made his way towards the sound. Another tap-tap greeted him just as he drew close enough to see. Keeping the gun ready, he pushed back the curtain to get a closer look.

Red eyes glowed from the other side of the glass. With a startled yell he jumped back and brought the gun up. The red blinked away leaving no shape behind. Whatever housed the creepy orbs was invisible in the dark. Sam pressed closer to the window trying to identify what it was, or if it was still there. He thought he could see something, an outline maybe, something but the red was gone.

Easing away from the glass, he started outside. Knocking on the bathroom he yelled for Dean to come out.

"Trouble," he said before going but figured Dean wouldn't be in time to help anyway. He opened the door just enough to slip out then carefully closed it behind him. With the gun held out he walked the few steps to where he had seen the eyes. Whatever it was had gone.

He turned towards the parking lot. With no lights except a couple of yellow bulbs along the walkway, it was virtually black past the sidewalk. He squinted trying to see if it was still around. Taking one step down his boots crunched noisily against the asphalt lot. As he scanned the area, he heard a faint sound like "tick, tick" and then nothing. Standing with a car on his right, he whirled in that direction, gasping when red eyes met him from across the roof. Once more it was like seeing disembodied lights. The "tick tick" came again and Sam held his breath as he took aim.

A hiss followed before he grunted with impact and stumbled. As he scrambled to get his balance he was surprised to see the whole car had shifted and was sitting at an angle in the space. The monster had shoved it into him.

He searched the area again, carefully making his way around the car, expecting the creature to leap out at him.

He jumped when Dean's voice filled the silence.

"Sam. What's going on?"

Sam turned around, wincing when a twinge shot through his knee. He limped a few steps towards the door.

"Are you limping? What happened?"

"I got hit by a car."

Sam ignored Dean's confusion as he passed him in the doorway.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Sam settled on his bed, laying the gun beside him, then started feeling along his knee to make sure nothing felt out of place. He expected the car bruised his leg and he was starting to feel some soreness in his abdomen but it was nothing out of proportion with what had happened. Dean had followed him in.

"What happened out there?" He asked as he looked out the window. "Are you all right?"

"The Aswang came back. It was standing at the window so I went out to deal with it but she, it, got away."

"Aswang? The one from the road?"

The disbelief in Dean's voice irritated Sam immediately. "Yes, that one. Unless there's a pack of them around here."

"You got a good look at it? I mean, you're sure that's what it was."

Sam looked down, closing his eyes for a moment before he answered. "I couldn't see it well, but it had red eyes. And it made that ticking, hissing noise. I haven't forgotten what they sound like."

"What did it do?"

"It looked through the window. When I went outside it hid, and then it shoved a car into me before it ran away."

Dean shook his head as he rubbed his forehead. "It pushed a car?"

"Yes, Dean. It pushed the car. Go look. It's the Toyota sitting out front. It's sideways now."

"I believe you, Sam, I'm just trying to get a handle on this."

Sam made a frustrated noise and returned to checking his leg. He already knew it was okay so he rubbed at the ache around his knee.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

Sounding angry now, Dean asked. "What are you so pissed about?"

"Because you think I'm imagining this."

"No, I don't. Sam, look, out on the road I figured you might have been. But, this? Come on; stop being a jerk so we can figure out what's going on."

Sam nodded feeling stupid and grateful at the same time.

Dean stopped to think. He glanced at Sam who had stopped worrying over his knee and was staring towards the hotel window. Dean looked that way too just in case but there was nothing there.

Dean wished he had gotten outside sooner. As soon as he opened the door he noticed the car and then he noticed Sam. The Toyota wimp mobile was parked crooked and he remembered thinking the family dad must have been drunk or a crappy driver. But, then he saw Sam limping back from the dark parking lot, waving a gun around.

"Another Aswang? Most hunters never see one and we've seen how many now?" Dean asked, thinking out loud.

"Four plus this one. But, you know, why would it come here?"

"To Buena Bruja?"

"To our door."

"I got a better question. What are you doing chasing it down alone with a gun that has regular bullets in it? No holy water, no nothing that'll hurt it. What were you thinking?"

"I didn't know what it was when I went outside." Sam responded like he was pointing out the most obvious thing in the world. "It was just something tapping on our window. And I did knock on the bathroom door to let you know."

"Well," Dean didn't have a good argument for that. "Just, next time, wait for me."

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean wanted to smack him in the back of the head.

"Seeing it on the road might have been a fluke, but here? It has to be following us," Sam said as if they hadn't stopped in the middle to go over safety precautions.

"Do they do that? I don't remember anything in Dad's journal about an Aswang tracking specific people."

"I don't either. We're going to have to start doing some research. We know they're deadly so we need to find out if it's started killing. If this thing is here because of us then…" Sam shrugged.

"I know," Dean agreed feeling a knot twist up in his stomach. Aswang liked to kill kids and babies.

Dean retrieved a beer out of the refrigerator. He looked to see if Sam needed one and found his brother had already moved to the table and was drinking from a bottle while the laptop warmed up. Dean sat down in the opposite chair.

Sam looked around the screen at him. There wasn't much for Dean to do at the moment and they both knew it. The initial searches were better handled by one person. When it came time to brainstorm or go to the library or talk to people, they would both be needed. But, right now they had one computer and no books other than Dad's journal.

"How about I go find food while you get the research started?" Dean suggested.

"Good plan," Sam answered, sounding relieved.

Dean sucked down the rest of his beer and tapped the table just to make some noise. Then he headed out.

Being early January, it was a cold night and too humid. With heavy clouds and no real lighting, the dark felt oppressive around him. He took a moment to check the old Toyota as he walked past it. He wondered what the owners would think when they emerged in the morning.

Sliding into the Impala he took a look around for any restaurants nearby but the neon lights that he could see were a few miles away. He drove out of the lot, passing the office as he went. He considered stopping to ask where he could find the closest restaurant but decided to search instead. The heater had just started warming the car and he didn't want to brave the cold again.

He decided on a cheeseburger for dinner, maybe a double-cheeseburger with bacon. He wanted fries too. He needed a place to get that plus a grilled chicken salad for Sam but if he couldn't find a place that had both then Sam would have to suffer through. Not that his brother was opposed to red meat but he did tend to deliberately limit his consumption. Dean didn't care about that.

Just as Dean reached Main Street he saw a banner draped across the road between two poles. With black lettering on an orange background the sign welcomed visitors to the "Clark M. Clifford High School Memorial". The names of the victims lined either side of the banner. The dead, Claire Webber, Marlene Corleone, Phillip Mack and Ed Bishop were listed on the right side. The injured, Ken Bridges, Alice Snyder, Chris Moran and Julie Barnes were listed on the left. Dean remembered that orange and black were the school colors. In all four corners of the banner was a cartoon cougar. The Clifford Cougars only real accomplishment in 1996 was a championship girls' basketball team from the year before.

After the shooting, he guessed nobody cared about basketball trophies.

Like being on autopilot the Impala seemed to turn down Clark M. Clifford Avenue on its own. Dean couldn't begin to explain why he drove in that direction. He saw the school with its brightly lit parking lot, open courtyard and structures splayed out across acres of land and found himself holding his breath.

He remembered Dad parking the Impala. He could still practically feel his own excitement at dropping out of school. Back then, being a man came in flashes of maturity, and he had been overwhelmed with his impending adulthood as they walked towards the office.

He reveled in that for just a moment before looking towards the cafeteria building.

Sam had said that it was remodeled but the building looked the same to Dean. Like a spider's leg, it shot off from the main body of the school, reaching towards the woods at the edge of the property. He could picture making his way there to retrieve something out of his locker, and knowing his Dad had been irritated about it. And then all of that went away when a bleeding, dying girl stumbled into them.

Dean shuddered at the memory of her small, frail body and the horrible sound of her breathing as it rattled and stopped.

At the time he had only thought about Sam. The rest of the students were people but not family. All he wanted to do was get his brother out of there. He supposed if they had found Sam dead then they still would have stopped the shooter but that didn't occur to Dean then. Sam was all that had mattered then.

With Dad gone, Sam was really all that mattered now.

Dean gave a final look at the darkened school and pulled away from the curb. As soon as he reached Main Street again, his stomach rumbled and he remembered why he was out.


	9. Chapter 9

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Part 9

Sam started from the beginning, running searches as if he had never heard anything but the name "Aswang". Despite their close encounter as kids he didn't know as much about them as he did about other monsters. He could quote "chapter and verse" about Wendigos, ghouls, werewolves and Djinn but the Aswang were an odd race. Seen almost exclusively in the Philippines, they weren't something that normally bothered American hunters. They were also a hybrid. Being a mutant mixture of vampire, shapeshifter and witch made them difficult to pin down with specific characteristics.

Legend said they could masquerade as people. After Dad and Bobby wiped out the nest in South Dakota, they had watched for any news reports about missing people. They were curious to see if the Aswang had been living as humans but nothing surfaced to indicate that that part of the legend was true.

According to the lore, the Aswang can transform into animals at night but they are most vicious when manifested in their true form. They are usually female with red eyes, claws and sharp teeth and they tend to be gray in color.

The long nose that Sam remembered was apparently used to suck a fetus from inside a mother's womb.

Sam shuddered at that bit of knowledge.

Nothing in the lore suggested that Aswang migrated. Once they found a hunting ground, they stayed there. Since their food source was people, it was a fairly endless supply so they tended to live and die in the same area.

The group of Aswang that tried to kill Sam and Dean when they were children, actually added new information to the lore. Until that time, no one had recorded them running in packs or creating a family unit. It had been assumed they were solitary hunters. Since the Aswang legend resided in the Philippines, it remained a mystery as to whether the group in South Dakota was normal or an anomaly.

Sam finished his second bottle of beer, saved the "Monsters R Cool" website to his new Aswang file and stood up. As he pushed the chair back he heard a squeak. Reminding himself mentally that the legs on the chair might be weak he headed into the kitchenette to retrieve another beer.

Just as he reached the refrigerator he heard another squeak except that it wasn't. It was more like scratching and it was at the motel window. Sam's heart started pumping harder as he reached for the handgun at his back. Now that it was loaded with silver bullets, he was better prepared to deal with the monster.

He looked towards the window finding the curtains pulled leaving no view to the outside.

A second later he found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling while a cold breeze filled the air around him. He shook his head as he pushed himself up, wondering why he felt dizzy.

A soft hissing focused his attention even if he couldn't clear the blurriness from his eyes. Sam pushed himself backward, trying to get to his feet while the gray blob in the door shimmered before his bleary vision. Pain pounded through his skull and his surroundings dimmed for a moment.

The hissing turned to a tick-tick sound like someone clicking their tongue.

Sam levered up a couple of feet then slammed back to the floor when the gray blob landed on his chest. The air left his lungs and he gasped, his eyes watering from the sudden loss of oxygen.

Now, that it was close up, leaning over his face, alternately hissing and ticking, it was no longer a gray blob. Perched on his chest with claws digging painfully into his thighs, the Aswang seemed to be studying him. She shifted her weight and Sam felt his jeans tear and the rip against his skin. He hissed back at her though it was born of pain rather than speech. She cocked her bulbous head then raised a clawed hand.

Sam couldn't move. The weight of her, the way her nails dug into his skin prevented it. If he tried to shift, to knock her off, she would disembowel him.

Her breath smelled like a decaying rodent as she hissed again. Her elongated nose slipped between his neck and chin sniffing at him. Sam hoped she didn't try to suck something out of him. She reared back digging up his legs again. Sam cried out at the sudden pain. She shoved off him throwing all her weight against his chest before leaping towards the decimated door.

Sam scrambled for the gun lying just inches from his fingers. He darted up, weapon in hand only to find the room empty.

The Aswang had fled.

Sam flopped back down, heaving breath through lungs that felt bruised. As oxygen flooded his starved body, dizziness swept into clarity and the pain in his leg screamed at him. Lifting up on his elbows he looked down to see the damage. Knowing the ripped skin and blood was his own made him a little nauseous.

Deliberately divorcing his mind from that bit of horror, he breathed through the pain and tried to take a clinical approach. The claw marks on both legs were deep but the right side was worse. He figured he'd need to put in some stitches unless Dean came back. If Dean returned then he could put them in. In any event, he thought bandages would suffice for the left side.

He pushed backward so that he could reach the bed hoping to use that to get off the floor. He needed his duffel because the first aid kit was in there but the duffel was across the room. Blood pumped out of his right leg as he moved. That seemed like too much to be healthy. Thinking back to Biology class he tried to remember how much blood was in the human body. He thought it was like 5 or 6 quarts total. It seemed like his right leg had pumped out about a quart in the last minute or two.

Starting to shiver he wondered vaguely how much he could lose and still live. Professor "I am so much smarter than everyone in the room" had said the body should strive to keep about 60% of their blood inside their bodies. Quick math meant that losing more than 2 quarts was not good.

Sam knew what a quart of blood looked like. He had seen it in a mason jar while his Dad had been hunting some…thing. He glanced back at his legs. Had he lost that much?

When noise boomed through the room, Sam shrank back while trying to bring the gun back up. Fully expecting to find the Aswang back to finish the job he blinked sweat out of his eyes and tried to focus. Before he could make out what he was seeing he felt his brother's hands on him.

"Sammy," Dean said.

"Need stitches, I think," Sam said before Dean started to fade. Sam wanted him to stay but the dark room stole him away.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Dean finished laying the blanket over his brother. He sighed, rubbing his forehead as he closed the back door of the car and opened the front so he could slide in behind the wheel. He thought how lucky it was that no one, not one guest or hotel employee had emerged to see the blown front door or Dean hurriedly throwing their belongings into the trunk. At 3:15 in the morning he supposed the "normals" were sleeping but he still took it as luck or weirdness, either one, that he hadn't been seen.

Even as he loaded his oversized brother into the back seat while Sam made pained noises, no one had some outside. Apparently no one was even looking outside because the police hadn't shown either.

When Dean arrived at their room to see the door off its hinges, he had been terrified by what he might find. Then seeing Sam half lying, half sitting on the floor with blood gushing out of his body, Dean had stopped thinking. All he knew to do was save his brother so he acted on the instincts honed through years of training. He cut open the jeans, checked the wounds, stitched them up and covered them. Then he started grabbing their stuff, tossing it into bags and put them in the trunk. His last act was lifting his brother off the floor which actually required some help from Sam, maneuvering him out to the car and then getting him into the back seat.

Dean didn't think the gouges in his legs were causing Sam's confusion. Blood loss happened and he had lost enough to be concerned but not enough to be hospitalized or worry about brain damage. Dean guessed that he was probably concussed. Sam had a knot on the back of his head that was most likely the real problem.

After years of getting thrown around by ghosts and other monsters, head injuries were so common that Dean barely gave them a thought most of the time. Sometimes one of them was dizzy or muddled for a few hours but eventually the symptoms passed. Rest, pain killers and dark rooms generally cured most of their injuries.

Dean started the car and drove to the opposite side of town where he booked a new room. After obtaining the key, he checked on Sam who was staring at him with the glazed eyes of someone coming off a bender.

"How you doing, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Still alive," Sam replied.

"That you are."

Dean drove around the single story hotel until he found their room number. He got out and unlocked the door then returned to help Sam out of the car. Sam accepted his hand and together they got him on his feet. He stumbled forward but Dean was used to that kind of thing. Even if Sam outweighed him by 40 pounds he could still keep him upright.

Stumbling into the room, Dean used Sam's momentum to get him sitting on the closest bed.

"Wow," Sam said and lay back leaving his feet on the floor.

"Are you okay?"

"Head hurts. Scratches hurt."

"Those aren't scratches. Whatever it was gouged the crap out of you. Took a bunch of stitches just to close them up."

"Aswang," Sam said. "It was an Aswang. Up close and personal this time. No mistake."

"What the hell is an Aswang doing here? Why would it be stalking you?"

"Could be stalking you," Sam pointed out.

"You've seen it three times and been attacked. Sounds personal to me."

"Huh," Sam said as he touched the bandages on his thighs.

"What?"

"Getting a breeze here."

Dean chuckled. He had cut the jeans down the middle starting at the pocket so that he could stitch and bandage without having to undress and redress Sam.

"Get in bed," Dean ordered before he went outside to get their stuff.

By the time Dean finished unloading the trunk and came back in the room, Sam had stripped down to boxers and t-shirt and settled under the blankets. Dean retrieved Ibuprofen from their pack. He gave Sam four pills and a bottle of water to wash them down. Their supplies were low and that was the only pain reliever they had without resorting to morphine.

Sam took the pills and lay back with his eyes closed.

"So, nothing in lore says that Aswang are vindictive. If they're stalking someone, it's for food but it's not personal," Sam said.

"Hard to believe that this is a coincidence."

"I know. And it also says they're not very smart. I mean, they're good hunters and they have a lot of abilities but they're not super-hunters like wendigo or completely sentient like shapeshifters. Closer to werewolves as far as intelligence goes. More instinct than anything else."

"Then one is instinctively following you ten years later?" Dean put it as a question because he had trouble believing it.

Sam sat up. He pushed himself to lean against the wall. "That can't be right, can it?"

"I don't know. Werewolves tend to go after people that they have a grudge against. Maybe this Aswang is pissed about the group that Dad and Bobby killed."

"Ten years later? That's a stretch even for us."

Dean shrugged in agreement. He turned back the covers on his own bed.

"Look, it's almost dawn. Let's get a few hours of sleep and then we can hash it out some more," Dean said.

"The, uh, parade, picnic thing starts at eleven," Sam said. "I want to get to the school pretty soon after that."

"I thought you wanted to go the memorial."

"No, I want to go to the school when it's empty."

Dean sighed. He did not understand his brother at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Part 10

Dean woke up at 9:34am. Four hours of sleep was his normal so he wasn't surprised when he looked at the clock to see that just over that had passed. He rubbed his eyes and coughed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Looking across the room he found Sam looking back.

"Morning," Sam said.

Dean grumbled under his breath, not really forming any words, just making noise. He scratched his hip as he made his way to the bathroom.

He finished in there and then came back out to see if Sam wanted to shower first.

"Not really," Sam said.

"But, you're going to because I need food and I can't go out until you're done. Don't want to come back to find your ass on the floor. "

"I don't need a babysitter."

"No, you need me. I'm just awesome that way."

"Dean."

"Common sense, you have a concussion and you lost a lot of blood yesterday. Just get in the shower so we can get out of here. You'll miss your window at the school if we don't."

Sam scowled as he climbed out of bed. He limped more than walked to the bathroom but he didn't look like he was going to fall over.

Waiting until he heard the shower start, Dean opened up the laptop. He started checking old newspaper articles looking for unusual deaths or cadaver desecration. If the Aswang was hunting locally then there should be evidence, especially if children were involved.

About fifteen minutes later, Sam emerged with a towel around his waist. He hobbled over to his duffel. When he lifted it, he scrunched up his eyes and drew a thin line with his lips but he didn't say anything. After a quick search, he pulled underclothes out then toddled back to the bathroom to dress. Dean noticed that he didn't grab jeans, which was smart, since he'd need to re-bandage his legs.

Not having enough time to do a thorough search, Dean closed the lid on the laptop and dug around in the first aid kit for fresh supplies.

Sam came out again, this time half dressed.

"Have a seat," Dean said.

"I can do it."

"Bet your ass," Dean agreed.

Sam sat on the bed beside the first aid kit. Before he covered the stitches, Dean looked to make sure the skin was pink, not red, and with only slight swelling. He was satisfied there was no infection as Sam taped new bandages in place.

"You better get showered," Sam said. "We can grab breakfast while we're out."

"I'm hungry now."

"You won't die."

Dean frowned but knew Sam was right about the time. If they didn't head out soon then the whole trip would be for nothing.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Sam barely ate anything at breakfast. When Dean pointed it out, Sam blamed a headache and the pain meds that weren't helping. But, Dean knew his brother. The fidgeting and the soulful staring out the diner window gave him away. Sam was nervous about going back to the school.

As they drove Elm Street because Main was closed for the Memorial Walk, Dean described his field trip the night before.

"It was strange, dude," Dean said. "It was quiet but it looked the same. I just, I don't know, I remember Dad walking with me and being excited about quitting school and then there was that girl bleeding all over the place."

"Claire," Sam said.

"Right. Claire Webber. The first victim. Her name is on this massive banner-thing they draped across Main Street. All of their names are on it."

"That's nice, I guess. I can't help wondering about the other kids in the room though. What happened to them? Other than Beth Aldridge, of course. The school closed for a month and then it re-opened. Did they go back?"

"You know, Sam, you can probably find out from the internet. We could go down to County Records and pull out names if you want. You're not going to learn anything by going back to the school."

"Going back, seeing it again, it's not about information, it's about…it's about knowing that I can do it."

Dean shook his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me, Sam. Really, I want to know what's going on with you."

Sam looked out the passenger window. He wiped his palms on his jeans then winced, probably touching the wounds there. Dean waited, hoping that Sam would finally explain himself.

"I'm afraid to go back there," Sam admitted, softly.

Dean remained quiet, afraid that if he pushed or said the wrong thing then Sam would shut down.

Another moment passed as Dean hesitated at a "stop" sign then drove through the intersection. In another minute they'd arrive at the school.

"If I go in and look around then maybe I can stop being scared of it."

"Sammy…"

"No, don't say it, all right? Don't tell me that anybody would be afraid and don't remind me that with all the monsters we've dealt with that I should be able to get passed this."

"Okay, first of all, I wasn't going to say either of those things," Dean replied, irritably. "And second of all, what I was going to say is that if you need to go in there to make peace then we'll go in there. You don't have to be a bitch about it."

Sam smiled as he looked out the passenger window.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the school. He stared across the courtyard just as he had the night before and put his hand around the gun in his pocket. He looked across the seat to his brother who was now rigidly watching out the windshield.

"You ready?" Dean asked.

Sam flinched infinitesimally then nodded. As he opened the door and stepped out, Dean noticed that Sam was armed as well.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Crossing the parking lot and passing the office building reminded Sam of his few months at Clifford. He had been there long enough to make a few friends but not long enough to miss anyone when they left. He had received good grades and liked most of his teachers. He remembered being surprised when Dean told him about dropping out because Sam would never have considered it. Even at a bad school, which happened sometimes, Sam always liked learning but this place was a good one. He couldn't understand why Dean wasn't happy going there.

Looking back, Sam knew that Dean hadn't been happy at any school. From the time his brother reached puberty, Dean had just wanted to meet girls and hunt. Nothing else mattered.

Once they reached the entrance to the old cafeteria building, Sam looked at Dean. Dean was looking back at him, obviously worried, so Sam gave him a smile. It felt weak and out of place and judging from Dean's scowl, it must have looked that way too.

Sam pulled the door open.

"It's not locked," Dean said.

"It's a school."

"But, there's nobody here."

"There's always somebody. Custodians, teachers, administrators, there's always somebody."

Determined not to let his fear stop him, Sam stepped across the threshold. The musty odor of people and rubber shoes and winter surrounded him and it was so much like last time that he stopped for a moment. Dean came up to stand beside him.

"Keep going?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam said.

Assailed suddenly with the memory of walking in, wrapped in a hand-me-down winter coat and pulling red mittens off his frigid hands, he had to blink to get himself back into the present.

Posters covered orange-striped walls. Ten years earlier, the walls had been a dirty gray color with circles of orange and black painted like balloons along the top and bottom. The posters he remembered were all about the upcoming football games and a dance of some kind. The current ones advertised the same activities but the signs looked professional, not hand drawn.

Fourteen year old Sam had been lost in his thoughts as he made his way to the cafeteria "testing room". Reminding himself to read the word problems a couple of times before starting, going through the algebra order of operations rules and wishing he'd eaten less at breakfast because his stomach was churning. He hadn't paid any attention to Tim Carroll who was standing against the wall with his hands behind his back.

"I barely noticed him," Sam said. "But, he was right there." He pointed towards the wall. "Just standing there. Now, I think he looked tense, ready to snap, but then, I just didn't see it. Maybe if I had…"

"You saw him before the shooting?"

"You didn't know that?"

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't matter. There's no way you could've known."

"Do you really believe that? Because Dad had been pumping our heads full about conducting threat assessments. Don't you remember?" Sam went on, mimicking his father's voice, "'just because it seems safe doesn't mean it is.' Look at everyone, every time.' 'Don't assume anything'."

Dean didn't respond and Sam knew why. Dad had taught them but somehow Sam had forgotten on the day that it would have made a difference.

"The cafeteria was right here," Sam said, staring at the wide open room. There was no wall or door except one that led out the back. There were stuffed chairs set in circles and small, round tables like it was some kind of lounge. A vending machine with soda and water was set up in the hall.

Along one side of the room were a dozen computers sitting on an elevated counter with tall chairs in front of them. A sign gave the access code for Wi-Fi and warned against surfing inappropriate sites.

"Mrs. Snyder and Mr. Bridges were huddled over there. Most of the kids were under the tables. The only ones out in the open were on the floor, bleeding out. I just kept waiting for the chance to jump Tim but Bridges was in the way and then Snyder was in the way. Tim saw me though. He told me to get under the table."

"Jesus, Sam."

"I don't know why he didn't shoot me."

Sam felt sick. Much like he did the morning of the test. His stomach churned with the few bites of egg and bacon he'd eaten. His head pounded vaguely, not quite a headache but the threat was there. He hadn't gotten much sleep ten years earlier and he'd been nauseous and fighting a headache then too. Just as he'd done that morning, he attributed his symptoms to anxiety.

"Never question good luck," Dean commented.

Sam looked over at him and stumbled as his brother slid out of focus. Dean caught his arm as the mild pain in his head exploded like it was taking part of his skull off. Sam's weight took both of them to the floor where they knelt together while Sam tried not to vomit.

"Is it a vision?" Dean asked, his tone dripping with fear.

"No, I don't…gosh," Sam muttered as another stab of pain pierced his skull.

"Sammy?"

"No, no, it's not a vision."

"Come on, buddy, we're getting out of here."

Dean shoved Sam's arm around his shoulders and lifted so they were both standing. Then he started walking, pulling Sam with him as they started towards the exit. The closer they came to the door, the more the headache declined and when they burst out into the fresh air, Sam could barely remember what the pain was like. The nausea remained but not as intense and Sam didn't think he would be sick.

"Wait, wait, Dean, I'm okay. I'm okay."

Sam stopped them walking any further. Dean started studying him and touching his face to check for fever.

Sam recoiled away from him. "I'm okay."

"That was not okay. That was like one of your freaky visions."

"Without the actual vision, yeah, I know. Except, it wasn't. I mean, not exactly."

"No vision."

"Besides that. It didn't feel exactly the same. Not better or worse just different, I guess."

"Well, whatever, let's get out of here."

Sam shook his head. He'd known Dean would demand that they regroup but he wasn't ready to leave.

"I want to go back in."

"Why?"

"I want to see if the same thing happens. There might be something supernatural in there, Dean."

"Where did you get that from?"

"My sudden blinding headache in a building where a bunch of kids got killed. All those unexplained deaths. It warrants a second look."

"Sammy," Dean started.

"No, you do not get to pull the 'Sammy' card. We need to make sure."

Dean was practically vibrating with anger and worry. Sam hated doing that to him but sometimes it was necessary. Their father had placed too much responsibility on Dean to protect Sam and it was almost like a sacred pact now that Dad was dead. Sam couldn't let that stop them from doing what needed to be done.

"Excuse me."

The arrival of the new voice startled both of them and Dean swung around to see who was approaching.

The skinny newcomer looked about Sam's age. His thin brown hair hung about shoulder length. He was dressed in baggy jeans and a green parka that hung to his knees. About the same height as Dean, his oversized clothes drooped off his frame. With thin, straight lips, narrowed eyes and pale skin, he looked like he might be strung out on something. But, his pupils were normal and he wasn't fidgeting so Sam thought he might just be sick or something.

"What do you need?" Dean asked.

"Did you just come from inside the school?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I just wanted to know what it looks like. Do they still eat in there?"

In the instant of recognition Sam surged forward, pushing past his brother.

"You're Tim Carroll," Sam said, tightening his hands into fists.

Dean darted up a step and moved between them.

"I just came for the memorial. I can be here," Tim said.

"No," Sam said, "You can't be here. No way are you allowed anywhere near a school."

"I just want…"

"You want to keep breathing, you walk away."

"Whoa, take it easy," Dean said, planting himself in front of Tim Carroll and putting his back to Sam.

"It seems unreal now," Tim said. "But I remember them all." He looked over Dean's shoulder. "I remember you."

Dean shoved him in the chest with both hands, knocking Tim back and making him stumble several feet before getting his balance back. Tim straightened up. Other than a moment of breathlessness he didn't react to the attack. He looked towards the old cafeteria building.

"It's like a dream now," he said.

"I don't know what your problem is and I don't care," Dean said. "But, it's time to go."

Tim reached a hand into his coat pocket. Sam tensed feeling Dean do the same. Tim tugged a brown ski cap out and put it over his head, pulling it down to cover his ears. He nodded at the two of them, almost expressionless, and walked towards the wooden tree line. He skirted the edge and then turned towards the student parking lot. A few moments later he appeared behind the wheel of an older model Cavalier and drove off the property.

Sam let out a long exhale and paced away from Dean. He stalked back and forth fighting the rage pumping through him. Minutes passed before he could speak again.

"Should've killed him."

"We don't kill humans, Sam."

"We should've made an exception."

"Yeah, well, calm down. He's gone and we'll drop a dime to give the cops a heads up. Does he still live in town?"

Sam shook his head. "No. He lives in Texas. With his mother."

"I'm betting he doesn't want anyone to know he's here."

"Why would he come back?"

"Looked like he was getting off on it if you asked me. Guy needs to be locked up somewhere."

Sam closed his eyes for just a moment before he turned towards the school again. He knew he needed to push his anger at Tim Carroll away. It only muddled his thinking.

"Come on," he said. "Let's try this again."

"Sam…" Dean protested.

"Are you coming or not?"

Dean glared at him so Sam softened his tone.

"It'll be okay. If I start to feel sick, we'll leave until we can come back with the EVP detector."

"At which point, I'll be going in by myself. If some angry spirit is roaming around in there targeting you then we're not taking any chances."

Sam wasn't going to have the argument about their next visit until it became apparent they needed another visit. Two minutes into walking through the door that task became undeniable. The pain hit him so fast, Sam nearly passed out. He fell to his knees with a groan as he felt like a layer of his skull was peeled back. He could hear Dean swearing as his brother grabbed him again and dragged him back outside.

Overwhelming exhaustion flooded Sam as the pain left him. Clearly, his body had not enjoyed two sudden rushes of blinding agony and churning nausea. He leaned against Dean because his brother was the most solid thing near him and he knew that Dean wouldn't let him fall. As the memory of the pain faded, Sam thought he saw movement in the parking lot.

He straightened and stared out across the courtyard to where the Impala sat waiting for them. Standing on two legs by the passenger side door, a large dog sniffed at the edge of the window. Sam couldn't tell what kind of dog it was.

"Dean, look at that dog," Sam said and his brother followed his gaze.

"Oh, crap, it's going to scratch the paint," Dean complained. Then he whistled and yelled.

Maybe a Husky or a German Shepherd, Sam thought it was female as she dropped back down to all fours and looked in his direction. Dean's noise didn't chase her away. She stood, as if immobilized, and watched them.

"Come on, we got to chase that thing away. Can you walk?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, pain's gone."

"Awesome, nothing creepy or weird about that."

Sam put his hand on Dean's arm, stopping him. "It could be the Aswang."

"It's daytime," Dean countered.

"Yeah, well, they turn into dogs and that dog is giving me the creeps."

Dean looked back at where the dog stood, feet still planted, still staring in their direction. Her bushy tail was up. Her black and gray ears were cocked in their direction.

"Okay," Dean agreed.

Sam took the gun out of the small of his back. Dean took another one out of his pocket. The gray, moisture-filled clouds took that moment to start sending snowflakes from the sky. The small, barely formed ice crystals soon turned thick and heavy, making real progress in covering the frozen ground.

Sam shivered while they walked but he kept his eyes on the dog. As they drew closer, he could see the muscles rolling under fur. She growled low in her throat, almost silently but Sam could hear the menace. He also felt like her total focus was on him.

"She doesn't like you," Dean commented.

The dog moved her front paws up and down but didn't approach or run away. The small movement had turned her body so she was facing Sam directly.

Dean brought his gun to bear and Sam followed his example. If the dog made an aggressive move, she wouldn't last long.

Stopping at the edge of the parking lot, Sam felt a tremor pass through his body. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. The dog screamed threat to him with every instinct he possessed.

Dean's hand on his arm stopped him from firing.

"Police," he said.

Sam glanced up for just a moment to see a blue and white cruiser pulling into the parking lot. When he looked back, the dog was gone.

"She ran into the trees over there," Dean said as he put his gun back in his jacket pocket.

Sam did the same, wanting to keep the police from seeing it. He didn't want to get arrested or have to try and talk their way out of awkward questions.

The cruiser pulled up in front of them and the solitary officer rolled down his window. A fifty something with thinning brown hair and a round, white face peered out at them.

"School's closed," he said with just a hint of good, old boy in his accent.

"Yes, sir. We're just looking around," Dean answered.

"Got a call from the janitor and he said you doing more than looking. Said you were inside one of the buildings."

Sam schooled his features to appear embarrassed. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. We came in for the memorial and I guess we got curious about where it happened."

"That's a bit ghoulish, don't you think?"

"Yes, sir, I guess it is."

"Speaking of ghoulish," Dean said. "We saw Tim Carroll a little while ago. The kid who shot up the place."

"I know his name," the officer said, sitting up straighter. "You sure?"

"I was a student here. I know him."

"Did you see a weapon or anything?"

Dean shook his head. "No. But, he was real interested in the building. Might want to keep an eye out."

"Yeah, think you're right," the officer said. "How about you move on out of here, huh, boys? The memorial is just about to reach the cemetery. If you want to pay proper respect to the children, that's where you want to be."

"We will," Sam said. "Again, we're sorry. Thank you."

The officer nodded and rolled up his window.

Dean and Sam headed for the Impala and climbed in. Sam noticed the officer remained parked at the curb as they left the property.


	11. Chapter 11

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

Posting a bit early on this one. I don't think I'll have time to post tomorrow. Once again, let me thank all those who have sent reviews, set up follows and listed this story as a favorite. It's all of you that make this fun to do.

Part 11

Entrenched in their hotel room, Dean retrieved beers for each of them to replace the ones they'd already consumed. Neither could figure out the dog at the school. If it was just a dog, her behavior was unusual. But, sometimes stray dogs were aggressive and all they'd really done is yell at her. On the other hand, if she was an Aswang who shapeshifted into a dog then why didn't she attack? And why had she shifted during the day? Once more, the legend of the Aswang was proving to be questionable.

Sam admitted that he felt threatened by the dog. He was ready to shoot her because he was certain that she was going to charge him. Dean agreed. He thought the dog was focused on Sam too. If the cop hadn't arrived, Dean would have fired on her just as fast as his brother had wanted to.

In researching the legend, Sam had found theories about the Aswang but there weren't a lot of hard facts. There were a couple of claims from the Philippines that someone had captured and/or killed one. There was one extensive site that described a hunter's journey into the jungle to track one and then ultimately killed it. That one had to be translated using an application that Sam had downloaded. Ultimately, the hunter had been extremely sentimental and described his sadness when he killed her and then she shifted into a beautiful woman. Dean rejected the whole story. Sam said that fiction usually started from facts and some of the information was probably useful.

In any event, they probably knew everything the lore had to say about Aswang but they weren't any closer to figuring out where she was or if she was killing. There were no news reports in Buena Bruja and nothing in the surrounding area about missing children or grave desecration. Nothing about replacement parts for mutilated corpses and there hadn't been any unusual animal attacks.

There had been some break-ins that the police thought were committed by the same person so they decided to visit the crime scenes to see if there were young children or infants in the homes. If that turned out to be the case, they hoped to be able to track a geographic line between the failed robberies and maybe, find where the Aswang was living.

Dean advised Sam, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to go anyplace alone.

"Not a child," Sam had replied and Dean was reminded of the movie "The Patriot" when Mel Gibson's son made the same claim and Mel Gibson had said, "You're MY child."

Dean didn't say that. He knew the reception he'd get. But, there was a part of him that thought of Sam as belonging to him. Acting as protector, babysitter and caregiver for the first eighteen years of the kid's life could cause those feelings.

"Just a bitch," Dean had said, instead.

"Jerk," Sam responded on cue.

Both of them changed into the Fed suits then Dean stopped at a convenience store to buy a street map. He drove to the police station to see about getting copies of the robbery reports.

After flashing their fake ID's, Dean kept an eye out for the officer who stopped them at the school while Sam convinced the on-duty sergeant to make copies of the case files. The Sergeant was passed retirement age and moved like the extra 100 pounds he was carrying was painful. He grumbled under his breath the whole time but ultimately gave them a stack of papers to take. He didn't bother to put them in a folder.

"Should've made him give you a folder," Dean said as they left the building.

"You know, we're not really FBI agents, Dean. "

"Barnaby Jones in there was just lazy."

"Wasn't Barnaby Jones a private detective?"

"Missing the point, Sam."

"Well, anyway, we have the information so let's go check out the houses."

"Yeah, it's the dinner hour so if we can get a look inside, we should be able to see if there are any kids or pregnant wives."

The drive to the first house took them past the old hotel where they had lived as children. The years left gashes and wounds in the side of the structure. The blue exterior looked faded and green. The trees that Dean remembered climbing were gone with nothing but stumps left behind.

"Doesn't look much different," Sam commented then chuckled when Dean gave him a disbelieving glare.

Dean hated it when Sam made their childhood sound bad. Their dad had done the best he could with little money and multiple payless jobs. Sam tended to forget they were always living just steps in front of arrest.

"It wasn't that bad," Dean pointed out. "You liked it there."

"Who wouldn't like endless blue walls, cracked linoleum and a heater that sounded like an injured bear?" Sam replied.

"Hey, we had a roof over our heads and food. We didn't need anything else. Dad came home most nights. We even had a Christmas tree."

Sam sighed. "You're right. Dad did the best he could. The place wasn't that bad."

Dean shook his head, annoyed that Sam gave in so easily. Since their father died, Sam seemed to be willing to forgive him for everything.

The snow that had begun earlier in the day continued falling at a steady rate. Several inches covered the ground and snow plows hadn't cleared the roads yet. Dean drove carefully, watching for possible ice pockets. But, black ice was nearly impossible to see so the car slid a couple of times before he finally parked at a strip mall that bordered the neighborhood of three of the five homes that had been burglarized.

Neither of them owned proper clothes for being out in the snow. Before they left the hotel, they had added layers to their upper bodies and thermal underwear to their lower bodies. Sam wore a lined flannel shirt over the top of his clothes. Dean wore his brown, leather jacket. Neither one of them had gloves or mittens so they buried their hands in their pockets.

Sam slipped on an ice patch almost as soon as he exited the car. He caught himself on the car and straightened up with a quick look around to see if anyone had seen him. Dean barked out a laugh but chose not to tease him. They met behind the Impala then continued side-by side, having to climb over a foot tall embankment of snow before reaching the sidewalk. Sam read the address from the map just before he slipped again, this time using Dean to stay on his feet. Dean caught him but scowled about it.

"Pick up your feet," he said.

"Shut up," Sam said.

The walk across snow as it compacted and crunched under their feet made getting to the neighborhood harder than it should have been. With snow swirling around them and sneaking under Dean's collar, he was thoroughly irritated by the time they reached the first house. Other than the street lamps glowing with yellow lights, it was completely dark but Dean felt lucky when he saw the full, front glass window giving them an unobstructed view into the living room. The question of children was answered by two small boys wrestling on the couch and a lacy, white bassinette sitting nearby.

"Well, that answers that," Dean said.

"Want to go talk to them?"

"Not yet. Let's check the other houses first. We can always come back tomorrow."

The second house was two blocks down from the first. Dean kept his head down while the heavy snowflakes soaked through his layers. He shivered wondering if he could use Sam's size as a windbreak. Then Sam slipped again and went down on one knee.

"Hey, you all right?" Dean asked, getting worried now. Sam was a lot of things but clumsy wasn't one of them.

Sam pushed himself back on to his feet with a shiver. "Sorry, just distracted, I guess."

"Is something wrong with you? Did that ghost or whatever do something at the school? You've still got that concussion rolling around too."

"I'm fine, Dean, really. A little headache is all. Nothing sleep won't fix."

Dean studied his brother for a moment. With the cold and snow, it was hard to tell if Sam's skin color was normal. His eyes looked all right and he wasn't weaving like he might pass out.

"Come on. We're almost there," Dean said.

The second house didn't offer the same easy view as the first so Dean crossed the street while Sam rang the doorbell. Two strangers on a dark, snowy night might scare the occupants but one man with a knack for looking like an overgrown teenager was likely to get an open door. Sam waited with his hands shoved into his pockets and Dean smiled when an adult female grinned at him and smoothed her hair down. Dean knew body language and the way she shifted her stance, pushing out her hip and kept sneaking looks up and down Sam's frame was entertaining. It amused Dean further that Sam probably had no idea that the woman was flirting with him.

The conversation took about five minutes and then Sam shook the woman's hand. She touched his arm, her smile still raging as he walked away.

Sam crossed the street to where Dean waited for him.

"Any kids?" Dean asked as soon as he was close enough.

"Nope. The husband works nights. The night of the break-in he came home early and apparently scared away the intruder. She did let me know that she was free most evenings and her husband almost never comes home early."

"Wow, somebody was looking for a little action."

Sam just scowled before saying they had one more house to visit.

Dean started to tease him about the "cougar" again when Sam lost his footing. Dean grabbed for his arm but only succeeded in getting caught up in the momentum. Huddled on the ground, Sam was on both knees and Dean had slipped to one.

"Damn it," Sam said then Dean followed up with more colorful language.

Extricating himself from his brother, Dean stood up then gave a hand to Sam and pulled him up.

"Seriously, what is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"I don't know. I'm not lying, Dean, it's a little headache, not even that bad but I keep getting dizzy."

"Oh, well, way to bury the lead there, buddy. Come on, there's a bus stop. You can wait there while I get the car."

"There's one more house to check and I can walk to the car."

"I'm cold and I'm wet and I am not getting sandbagged by a snow bank because you can't keep your balance."

"Sandbagged by a snow bank? What does that even mean?"

Stopping in front of a snow covered bench, Dean used his arm to push some of the snow off clearing a narrow space. "Shut up and sit down. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Dean," Sam argued.

"I mean it, Sammy, stay put."

With a final huff of indignation, his brother sat down and Dean patted his shoulder as he headed for the car.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Sitting on the bench with snow falling so heavily he couldn't see more than a few feet in either direction. Sam pulled his wet flannel closer. The narrow, white covered street gleamed from the dim lights of the lamps above. Tree branches sank heavily from the extra burden. Quiet hung through the air with no birds or cars or people to interrupt it.

The beauty brought a sense of peace with it.

Sitting there, Sam could feel the headache growing in intensity but still thought Dean was being overprotective. Getting hijacked at the school explained the pain as well as the exhaustion sweeping through him. The periodic dizziness was inconvenient but it could easily be attributed to the head injury from the night before.

He looked up the street to see if Dean had reached the corner yet. Apparently he had because he wasn't in sight anymore. Sam relaxed against the park bench knowing he'd hear the rumble of the Impala's engine as soon as Dean grew close.

A moment later some noise, some sound, some… thing had Sam sitting up again. He scanned the area around him, squinting to see through the heavy snow. His heart pounded inside his chest because the air around him had changed. Every instinct inside him felt the difference. He stood up, clutching his handgun as he spun slowly searching for whatever had disturbed the night.

His boots crunched against the new snow while he tried to make shapes out of the shadows. Then across the street, almost directly across, he saw it. Dark against the tree it stood beside, Sam could just make out the long, clawed hands. She turned her head and he caught the flash of red in her eyes.

Sam pushed the handgun out in front of him and walked across the street. She cocked her head like she didn't understand as Sam pulled the trigger. The sound exploded. A nearby car alarm started screeching. The Aswang disappeared for a second and Sam saw a puff of dust from a cement fence as the bullet hit it. The Aswang came back a moment later but it was much closer. Sam fired again as she swung out, backhanding him on the side of the head.

He took flight for a moment before skidding along the snow. Pushing himself to his knees he tried to shake away the ringing in his head. He didn't know where his gun was but he was sure he had shot the Aswang. Sam turned his head to see if she was still moving. He gasped when there was just empty space where her body should be.

Getting up was slow but he kept looking around, searching for her, waiting to be attacked even though he couldn't find her though the falling snow. He managed to stand but he was shaking from the latest blow to the head. He took a few steps and found his gun on the ground. Turning carefully, weapon ready, he scanned the sidewalks, road, trees and fence lines looking for anything out of place. A four foot bird bath almost lost its life when Sam mistook it for the Aswang but he stopped himself in time.

When he heard the Impala, Sam let out a relieved breath.


	12. Chapter 12

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

So sorry for the slight delay. I was supposed to post this morning but the day got away from me.

Part 12

Dean drove carefully down the snow covered street, hoping he didn't start sliding. He could only see a few feet in front of him and while he doubted anyone would be out in such bad weather, he didn't want to depend on that. As he drew close to the park bench were Sam was waiting, he caught a glimpse of something moving through a side yard. He looked for Sam next, surprised to see him standing on the opposite side of the street.

Dean pulled up next to him and Sam climbed in. The momentary illumination revealed a smear of blood on his brother's face.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded, worry making him angry.

"She found me again."

"Who? You mean the Aswang?"

"Yeah. She jumped me again."

"How did she…? How could she…? Did you kill her?"

Sam didn't answer at first.

"Sam," Dean said trying to get his attention again.

"I shot her twice. Couldn't have missed. "

Dean opened the car door to get out. "Where is she? Was it the dog or…"

"No, it was just the Aswang and I don't know where she went. Ran off, I guess."

"Sam, if you shot her twice…"

"I know but I did shoot her. She disappeared the first time, like a, like a ghost or something. The second time, I was picking myself up so I don't know."

"You mean like after we blast a ghost with salt? She disappeared like that?"

Sam turned to look at him. "Yeah. Just like that."

"And you got jumped by a ghost at the school today."

"So, you think it's a ghost. Like a shape-shifting ghost. That is apparently attached to me. Seriously?"

"It's not any crazier than an Aswang stalking you."

Sam shrugged then made an ugly face like it hurt. "True," he agreed.

"Come on, let's get back to the hotel before we get snowed in here."

Neither of them spoke much on the drive. Dean concentrated on keeping his car on the road. He didn't like having his baby subjected to snow, rain and ice. The rock salt from the snow blowers and plows wasn't good for her either.

Dean slid as much as drove into the parking space nearest their room where the curb stopped the Impala with a light thump. He cursed then apologized to the car. Expecting a smartass comment from his brother, Dean glanced over at Sam.

Sam was rubbing his forehead, his eyes closed and scrunched.

"You all right?" Dean asked.

"Still got the headache. I'm fine."

"Are you dizzy too?"

Sam hesitated a moment then admitted to that as well.

"I'm not surprised. You've been getting batted around this town since we got here."

Dean made his way to Sam's side where Sam was sitting with his legs on the ground but his body still in the car.

Dean pulled his brother up and steadied him.

Dean watched Sam hover along beside him, not actually touching but clearly planning to use him as a lifeline if his legs gave out. He dug the hotel key out and let both of them in. Sam clumsily aimed towards the first bed then sat down and fell over on to his back.

"You're running a fever." Dean recognized the flushed cheeks and sunken eyes. Sam grunted in response.

"Fever and infection, like a burger and cheese, can't have one without the other," Dean said. "Gotta check your legs where the Aswang swiped you."

Sam groaned as he sat back up. "Give me the first aid kit."

Dean rummaged around in Sam's duffle until he found the small bag of supplies. He tossed it to Sam who awkwardly caught it.

"Make sure you disinfect," Dean said.

"Shower first. I'm freezing."

"You going to fall down in there?"

"No."

"You know, most home accidents happen in the bathroom."

"Shut up," Sam said.

Dean chuckled as Sam shuffled off to the shower.

Dean wondered if the gouges left by the Aswang might contain some kind of venom. That was a scary thought. But, he also worried that whatever attacked Sam at the school might be to blame. He wondered if anyone else had reported extreme and sudden headaches.

As Dean prepared to sign on to the laptop and try to break into the school records, a knock on the door startled him. He checked around making sure they hadn't been careless with their weapons and then looked out the peephole. A middle-aged woman with blond hair piled on top of her head stood outside. Dean opened the door.

The woman was probably in her fifties and thirty pounds overweight. She wore black slacks and ankle high black boots with a mid-length tan colored coat. She carried a red purse with a wide strap over her shoulder.

"Hello," she said. "I'm looking for Samuel Winchester and I believe that's his car outside." She nodded towards the Impala. "Is this his room?"

"Well, how about you tell me who you are first, sweetheart, then we'll get to who's staying here."

"You must be Dean," she said with a frown and Dean raised his eyebrows at her. "My name is Alice Snyder. I teach school at Clifford."

"Mrs. Snyder," Dean said. "You were there for the shooting."

"You make it sound like an event. I wasn't at a football game, I was watching children die." She had a precise way of speaking that probably always elevated her to the smartest person in the room.

Automatically contrite, Dean said, "Yes, ma'am, I didn't mean it like that."

"Are you going to invite me in or should I stay out here in the snow?"

Dean stepped aside. "Come on in. Sam's in the shower. I'll tell him we have company."

Alice Snyder walked in with one hand on her purse strap as if she expected Dean to steal it. Dean revised his assessment and decided she was probably fifty pounds heavier than necessary. He was also losing respect or, at least, the façade of respect that he used to afford teachers.

He knocked on the bathroom door.

"Give me a minute, will ya?" came Sam's less than cordial answer.

"Hurry up, Sammy, you have a visitor."

"A what?" Sam yelled back.

"A visitor. Company. A lady caller," Dean said the last one with a smile towards Mrs. Snyder. She looked unimpressed by his humor.

"Get me some clothes," Sam said and Dean could hear the water turn off.

He rustled around in Sam's bag until he came up with blue jeans and a blue, long-sleeved t-shirt. Going back to the bathroom, he opened the door just enough and tossed the clothes inside.

"You two must be very close," Mrs. Snyder commented, her tone dripping with disapproval.

"We're brothers, honey, get your mind out of the gutter."

"Of course," she agreed, but Dean didn't like the way she said it.

"What do you want?" Any semblance of politeness had fled Dean's tone.

"I want to talk to your brother. I thought I said that."

"I don't remember you having all this attitude when I was in school."

"You were never in my class, Dean."

"But, I did save your ass ten years ago. You might want to remember that."

"I remember that your brother was the hero that day. You showed up after the fact."

Both Dean and Mrs. Snyder turned towards the bathroom door when they heard the snick of the latch opening. Dean opened his mouth to make the introduction when Sam beat him to it.

"Mrs. Snyder," he said.

"Hello, Sam."

As Sam lifted his hand to shake hers, the teacher lifted her hand as well. Dean started walking towards Sam, not wanting him to stumble or something, and reveal his weakened condition to Snyder. It was probably a pointless concern, anyone who saw him would know that Sam was sick but Dean couldn't help feeling protective. He had only taken a couple of steps when Sam grabbed his head in both hands. He cried out as he collapsed to his knees. Just as Dean lurched towards him, a blinding light followed by a hard push sent him stumbling backwards. Blind, Dean dove in the direction of the bed where he knew a handgun lay inside his bag. He blinked and shook his head trying to get his vision back as he hands closed around the weapon. He spun in the direction he had last seen his brother and the teacher. Through tearing eyes, Dean could just make out Snyder hovering near the bathroom door but he couldn't find Sam.

"Hey," he yelled to get her attention and she turned. With a wave of her hand, the gun fled from Dean's grip and thudded against the wall above his bed, dropping onto a pillow. He hadn't had a chance to fire.

With his sight gradually clearing he could see the snarl on Snyder's lips. She smiled as she opened the room door. On the other side, the dog from the school parking lot stood with teeth showing from a drooling mouth. Growling low, the dog sauntered in, shaking the excess snow off her back.

Now, with just dots dancing around his eyes, Dean could see Snyder more clearly. Her lips were pulled back, her eyes had darkened and gnarled hands were curled at her sides.

Dean tried to see around her, looking for Sam. He could make out legs sticking out from inside the bathroom and they were moving. Relieved that Sam was, at least, alive, he turned his attention back to Snyder and the dog. His eyes widened when there was a full grown Aswang with gray, clawed hands and red eyes standing where the dog had been. The Aswang hissed at him and Dean found himself pushing backward a fraction.

"Okay," he said holding out one hand as he got up from the floor. "You're a witch."

Mrs. Snyder's grin grew wider and Dean shuddered at the way her teeth shrank and twisted behind her lips.

"Older than time," she admitted. A small piece of rotted tooth spit out from her mouth.

"Old enough to know what a dentist is," Dean said.

Her eyes narrowed and the Aswang took a menacing step but Snyder stopped her just by holding up a hand. The Aswang hissed again.

"Nice pet," Dean commented.

"What do you see there?" Snyder asked. "What does Sam see?"

Dean gave a "what the hell" look and she continued, "I know it's a monster but I don't know what type. You see it too, don't you? Tell me what it is."

Thinking about the gun lying a few feet away, Dean asked, "What do you see?"

"I see all of the anger and fear and despair from ten years ago balled up and snarling. But, you see something else, something more…solid."

"I see Lassie with anger issues," Dean replied and took a backward step towards the bed.

"This monster he created, it must have been something terrible. When Sam saw all of that swirling fury on the road, he gave it shape and presence. He created it for both of you."

She laughed lightly before speaking again.

"I thought he'd see Tim. I mean, why wouldn't he manifest the thing he feared most as he returned here?"

Dean would have preferred it if Sam had managed to drag himself up from the bathroom floor and silently jumped Snyder and the Aswang but that didn't happen. Instead, Sam clattered and groaned his way back to standing so the witch backed up towards the door to keep them both in sight.

Sam placed both hands on either side of the door frame and ran his eyes over the situation. His hair was still damp from the shower.

Dean could see him struggling to stay upright.

"What do you want?" Dean demanded from Snyder.

She narrowed her gaze. Her smile faltered for just a moment then returned in full, disgusting bloom.

"Nothing, I suppose," she said. "Or maybe just to relieve my curiosity. You see, this, this…image you see here. This, well, you called it my pet, is mine. All of that horror and sadness that floated around after the shooting, it needed something. So, for the last ten years, I have kept it near and safe."

"The Aswang or the image of it, I guess, it's a Tulpa, isn't it?" Sam asked.

Dean knew about Tulpas. It was something materialized through thought, meditation and belief. They had hunted one in Texas when a group of kids created a murderous ghost just by creating the myth that one existed. Enough people believed in it to make it real.

"An Aswang? I don't know what that it is," Snyder said. "But, yes, Sam, you're correct. A Tulpa born from the children who died, and from those who survived. All that confusion and rage manifested became something substantial, something ugly and dangerous."

"It's solid," Sam said. "It has weight and mass."

"Because you created the…what did you call it?"

"Aswang," Sam said.

"Yes. I'll have to look that up later. In any event, you believed that's what it was and so, that's what it became for you. I don't see what you see. I see the mass of energy that has existed since that day."

"Why did you send it after me?" Sam asked.

"I didn't. It's been following you on its own. I'm not sure but whatever it is, it wants you."

"It's sentient?"

"After the shooting, I could see the manifestation because I'm a witch. At first all I wanted was to protect it, but after some time passed, I started to realize there would be benefits to harnessing all that negative energy."

"If you could do that, why didn't you stop the shooting?" Dean asked. "Or were you directing that too?"

Snyder shook her head. "I had nothing to do with the shooting. As far as I know, Tim Carroll was just an angry teenager. I was as stunned as anyone that day and even more so after he hit me."

"So, what about the Tulpa, what does it have to do with me?" Sam asked.

"A few days ago, it left me. I didn't understand what was happening at first until it returned and I could sense you. You left your fear there too, Sam, and I could feel it. And it kept looking for you and it kept finding you."

"But, it didn't kill me."

"Maybe it doesn't want you dead," Dean suggested.

"It doesn't know what it wants," Snyder said. "It's a churning torrent of emotions. It probably can't decide what to do with you."

"And it's part of me. Or I'm part of it, I guess," Sam said. "But, still, raw emotion in a solid state, how does that have intelligence? How can you direct it?"

"I'm a witch," Snyder answered as if Sam was a dull child.

"You used it to kill people," Dean said, wanting to get the focus off Sam.

"They were problems. Ken Bridges just could not stop watching me. I think he sensed the Tulpa but couldn't understand it. Felix, well, he just wouldn't give me tenure. After all I'd done for that school, he just wouldn't recommend it."

The Tulpa, persisting in its Aswang persona hissed at Dean then launched into the ticking sound.

"What about Beth Aldridge?" Sam asked.

"She came the closest to revealing me. She was quite a little Nancy Drew."

"Are there others?" Dean asked.

"A couple of hours ago, it killed Tim Carroll." She said it as if she were relating gossip.

Dean glanced at Sam and could see the same surprise on his face that Dean felt.

"I had nothing to do with it," Snyder said. "It left me so I did a spell to track it. I assumed it would come to you again but it didn't. I can't tell you exactly what happened, of course, but Tim is definitely dead."

Dean shook his head, unable to feel anything for the boy who murdered his classmates.

He asked Snyder what else she used the Tulpa for since the shooting.

"This and that," she said. "It's been ten years after all. There are bound to be issues that need attention."

"You're using the anguish of dead children to kill for you," Sam said. "That's just sick."

Snyder shrugged, her lips pulling away from her rotted teeth.

The image of the Aswang flickered. At first, Dean thought he imagined it but then it flickered again. He could see a laser show of lights; dark blue, shot with purple and streaks of silver and gray. When the image changed again it looked like a jumble of thin wire, ridged but bendable. The colors glowed like lightning cutting through a black night. The streaks of blue twisted around the purple and gray as if a ball of twine had suddenly come to life.

The Aswang was gone and Dean realized that he was seeing the swirling image of horror brought on by fear and death.

"I see it now," Dean said to Sam.

"Do you?" Snyder asked. "Then at least you'll understand what's happening next. Because, you know, you can't take my pet."

Snyder raised her gnarled hand and Dean was overtaken by the sudden energy of the Tulpa as it wrapped around him. It felt like burning razors skidding over his skin.


	13. Chapter 13

Mass Hysteria

A/N: This story deals with a high school shooting that includes the death of several teenagers.

Feedback is welcome and appreciated

A/N: The feedback and reviews to this story have been phenomenal. To all those who have been reading, thank you so much.

Part 13-Conclusion

"I see it now," Dean said but Sam didn't. He still saw the image of the Aswang crouched beside Snyder, hissing and waving its clawed hand in Dean's direction. He didn't have time to wonder about that for too long before Snyder motioned and the Aswang leaped.

Dean cried out as he toppled backward with the Aswang clawing at his body.

Sam darted into the bathroom. The first aid kit still sat open on the counter. Listening to Dean's anguished cries, Sam grabbed the sharp knife they kept in the kit. Perfect for minor surgeries, Sam ran back and flung it hard and fast and watched the blade sink into Snyder's neck. He was almost as surprised as she was that it had its mark.

The witch screeched as she batted at her neck trying to get the knife out. She swung around at Sam as he rushed her and tossed a ball of light towards him. The energy hit him in the chest knocking him back a step. As he tried to force his eyesight, he could just make out her silhouette running out of the hotel room.

He could still hear Dean grunting and cursing though the struggle between him and the monster was punctuated by flashing lights across Sam's retinas and he couldn't see it clearly. When Dean yelled out in pain, Sam shook his head again bringing the scene into focus. Dean scooted backward until he hit the wall. He held out his hands in defense.

The Aswang turned to face Sam.

"No," Sam said as it started towards him. With slow steps punctuated by hissing it lifted its claws. Sam felt it touching his mind. The intense stab of pain through his skull made sense now. It was the horror he felt at the school that day and it was the pain and fear that they all went through, concentrated into terrible energy.

Dizzy with the agony of it, he said, "I don't believe in you. You don't exist."

The image flickered like a television losing its signal.

"You're at peace, you're calm and peaceful. There's no more anger here, no more fear."

Black filled the space where the Aswang stood, replaced by a swirling ball of blue and silver light.

"It's okay now," Sam said. "You don't have to hold on to the fear anymore. We can let it go. We can be at peace."

Starting to feel the pain in his head dissipate he realized he had been feeling it for the last couple of minutes, a gradual relief that took a moment to accept.

"It's okay now," Sam said. "There's nothing left to fear."

Tears burned behind his eyes as he felt them start to leave. There were no faces, nothing to distinguish one light from the other but he could feel them. The anguish, the confusion and the anger, an incredible amount of anger, swept over him as the lights faded.

"We're safe now," he whispered as images poured across his mind. He saw Claire's shock as the blood seeped through her shirt. He saw Marlene crawling towards the door while Tim fired into her. He could hear Phil crying out in anger as his life was ripped away. And the others, hiding under their desks, whimpering and sobbing, just waiting for the next bullet to be for them. He could see it all as if he were back in the room, could smell the copper of blood, could feel his own horror. It all played out as the lights shriveled and disappeared like streaks of fireworks winking out.

When Sam finally came out of the memories, he was surprised to find himself on his knees with Dean beside him. The fear in Dean's voice replaced the rest of it and Sam looked around, finding the room empty. No Tulpa and no witch, just freezing wind from the open door and his brother anxiously trying to get his attention.

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

Dean drove silently through Buena Bruja with Sam sitting in the passenger seat watching the GPS in his phone. Sam told him to turn and Dean turned, then Sam told him to stop in front of a small house with a narrow front lawn and steps leading to a front door. The windows of the house showed only darkness inside. No vehicle was parked in the drive.

"She's gone," Sam said.

"Let's make sure," Dean said. He clutched his handgun, hoping they'd find Alice Snyder there. He wanted to finish killing her. He wanted her to feel all the fear she had taken advantage of and used to murder. Part of that Tulpa had belonged to Sam, and Dean hated that the witch had claimed it to do her bidding.

Sam picked the lock on the front door letting them into her house. An alarm sounded giving them only about four minutes to check for Snyder before they knew the police would arrive. They needed half that time to see that the witch had abandoned her house.

They slid into the Impala and drove away. As they turned the corner out of the neighborhood they passed a patrol car with its lights flashing.

"She ran," Dean said. There had been a couple of shirts on the floor, the closet doors were open and empty and there was no sign of a suitcase.

"Yeah," Sam said. "But, where to?"

"I don't know. We can probably find out what she drives."

"A witch that's been around a while is going to know about hiding. She said she was older than time."

"Melodramatic," Dean said. "And bragging. Probably more like the Mayflower or something."

"Still. If she doesn't want to be found…"

"I hate letting her get away."

"We didn't let her do anything. And we did stop her from using the Tulpa anymore. That's something."

"It's not enough."

"No," Sam agreed.

"Maybe we can put out some feelers to other hunters. Get the word out to look for her."

"Bobby can help with that."

Dean nodded as he drove towards the hotel. It had stopped snowing but the brutal cold seeped through the glass windows and he shivered. The heat in the Impala couldn't keep it warm enough so he glanced at Sam to see if it was affecting him.

Sam hadn't complained about headaches or dizziness or even the scratches left by the fake Aswang but the kid had been through a lot. The Tulpa had basically used him to scatter itself which couldn't have been a pleasant experience. And that was after it had spent the last couple of days attacking him. But, when Dean looked at Sam, he found that Sam seemed okay. Maybe a little pale and the passing lights illuminated some dark circles under his eyes but overall, he seemed okay, at least physically.

"Are you still running a fever?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know. It's cold."

"Okay. Let's pack up, put some distance between us and this town, and then we can hold up for the night."

"'Kay," Sam agreed.

There was little to say on the drive to the hotel and then they were too busy loading the car to have any real conversation once they arrived.

In short order they were back on the road and silence filled the space between them. It wasn't awkward but Dean needed to say what he was thinking. He held it in until they reached open road but just barely.

"That energy ball freaked me out," he said.

"Me too," Sam agreed, emphatically.

"It's not right having fear and pain show up like that."

"It's supposed to dissipate, not turn into a thing. I mean, I guess, vengeful spirits are kind of like that but they're real, they're not just emotions wrapped into a lightning show."

"And making us see an Aswang instead? Of all the things we could've…"

"I could've…"

"Yeah, right, because you gave it shape and stuff. Of all things."

"Must be mixed up in my head because they happened so close together."

Dean nodded. "Must be."

"If we ever see her again…"

"She's going down. Gonna gank that bitch," Dean said.

"It must have been at the school. It must've attacked me there then went outside. I saw the dog because I knew Aswang are shapeshifters."

"Must be."

"I wonder how it found me; how it knew we came into town."

"She said you were part of it. Maybe it sensed you."

"A lot of people who were in that room the day of the shooting still live in that town. Why single me out? Snyder didn't say it was following everyone, right? Why was it mad at me?"

Dean glanced at his brother. "I have a theory about that but I don't know if you want to hear it."

"Why wouldn't I?" Sam sighed. "You know what, never mind, just tell me."

"I think you saved them the last time and they were looking for you to save them again."

Sam made a negative sound and shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense. First, I didn't save them and second, the thing was trying to kill me."

"Maybe not, maybe it was trying to get your attention. You didn't understand it and you turned it into something that could hurt you. It acted like an Aswang but not completely. Just like the ghost of Mordechai Murdoch didn't act like a ghost, at least not completely."

"He wasn't a ghost, he wasn't even a real thing, he was…"

"He was exactly what the legend made him and that gave him a physical presence."

"So, you're saying that if I had perceived the Tulpa as a fuzzy kitten then it wouldn't have attacked me."

Dean shrugged. "I guess."

"But, it followed me around…ripping me to pieces, by the way… just to get my attention because it wanted me to save it from Snyder?"

"Or maybe it just wanted to be done, Sam. Once you started talking it took about three minutes to dissolve. If it wanted to live then I think it would've fought harder, don't you?"

Sam studied his hands for a few moments. Finally, quietly, he said, "But, I didn't save them."

"You didn't save everyone but you did save them. And my guess is, you were the only one in that room that wasn't overwhelmed by what was happening. Tim Carroll included."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. It killed Beth Aldridge and she was in the room during the shooting."

"That was Snyder directing it. You heard what she said; it left her and came to you. Snyder was just as confused by that as we were."

"I don't know. What about Tim Carroll?" Sam asked.

"That's easy, revenge."

Dean gave Sam a chance to process all that before continuing. "You know, it's a theory. Let's go run it by Bobby and see what he thinks."

"You want to go to South Dakota?"

"Sure, why not? Maybe he's got a job."

Sam smiled and shrugged his agreement.

"Call and tell him. Maybe he'll whip up some stew."

Sam nodded as he dug out his phone. "Sounds good."

SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN SPN

A/N: I started this story several months before the school shooting in Connecticut. After that, I backed away from it for a while to gain some distance. I think that shooting did impact where this story ultimately went, however.

A/N: I deliberately did not give the student killer a reason for attacking his school. In reality, we rarely know what drives mass shooters since they usually kill themselves. It's almost always conjecture and theory. I wanted to maintain that bit of truth.

A/N: The Columbine Massacre occurred in 1999. The Jonesboro, AK Massacre occurred in 1998. Since my fictional story starts in 1996, there is no mention of previous school shootings.

A/N: There were a couple of mistakes in this story that some observant readers picked up on. First, Dean is sixteen at the start of the story but Sam is actually only twelve. In the original writing he was fourteen and then I changed it to thirteen. But, I was still wrong. A tip to fellow writers, type "age calculator" in to Google and it will give you a nifty tool to use. The other mistake was also in the beginning. I set it up for Dean and John to go back to the hotel and collect their stuff before going to see Bobby. After the shooting, they just go so, apparently, they were largely "stuff-less" after that. Darn it! Those and any other errors are entirely mine. Thanks to the readers who pointed them out.


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